


Keep It Hidden - Part II of the Astoria Greengrass Story

by CornishPixieDuster



Series: The Astoria Greengrass Story [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Chronic Illness, Developing Relationship, Drastoria, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Family Secrets, First Time, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Lemon, Loss, Lust, Malédiction, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornishPixieDuster/pseuds/CornishPixieDuster
Summary: The Dark Lord is gone, and the war has taken its toll on Astoria. To add to misery, her curse has started to get worse. For the first time in her life, Astoria starts playing fast and loose with the rules - and she likes it. So, apparently, does Draco Malfoy. Rated M, for all the sexy steaminess.This is Part II of a Drastoria story I have in my head.  Parts I and II are currently in process, with Part III only a vague concept.  If you're patient, hopefully I will get it all down eventually!





	1. Blue Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This, along with Part I: Something to Hide, is my first deep dive into HP Fanfiction. Comments and DMs are always appreciated! Otherwise I will assume that only Chinese bots and Russian trolls are reading my stuff.

Chapter 1

It all started with a whim.

Astoria was sitting in St. Mungo's, wringing her hands, waiting for Healer Lyra Hiddlestick to return with a new potion she needed to take. It had not been a 'good owl' day; instead of the usual spell-and-potion-poof-you're-done routine, Astoria had been in her private room for almost 5 hours. Lyra, concerned about how pale Astoria looked, had run some tests and proved her worst fears true. The treatments weren't working as they once did.

 _You're 18 now, Astoria,_ she berated herself. _What did you expect? Lyra told you things would get worse._ Her thoughts were bitter. _And that was before the rise of You-Know-Who, and last year at Hogwarts, and Tullia's…_

She clenched her eyes shut, desperately trying to block thoughts of Tullia out of her mind. She couldn't go there, not yet. She reopened her eyes reluctantly and cast them around the room, looking for distraction.

"Too young for grey hair? Charm it away!" shouted a garish purple headline, written under a picture of a perky auburn-haired witch smiling stupidly out of the cover of Witch Weekly's March edition.

 _At least I don't have grey hair_ , Astoria mused, briefly inspecting the end of a tendril as if to check it was still a boring light brown. She had never looked at a Witch Weekly magazine in her life. "Pitiful rubbish for common witches!" was the eloquent way her mother tended to describe it. But at this point, she was desperate for any kind of escape from her darker thoughts. She picked it up from the table beside her cot and started flipping through it.

"Tips to turn up the tint of your tired tousles! Here's a no-fail charm to make those luscious locks lively again!" She snorted at the terrible alliteration, but continued reading. As she scanned the proffered charm, Astoria found herself wondering what her mother would do if she came home with Weasley-ginger hair. _She'd have kittens_ , she thought. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. _Maybe not red… but what about Ravenclaw blue?_

It was not long after that that Lyra returned to the room to find Astoria with a head of deep blue hair. She looked paler than ever, but in a way so severe and eye-catching that the healer stopped in her tracks.

"Well, stun me silver. Your mother is going to jinx your head off your shoulders if you go home like that." She had said it with a smile on her face, so Astoria knew the healer was amused. _Amused, but not wrong_ , her inner voice corrected.

As much to herself as to Lyra's comment, she responded boldly. "I am not afraid of my mother. I'm not afraid of anything anymore." Her eyes blazed with recklessness, and she found herself almost hoping for a fight.

Instead, Lyra's expression saddened. "Astoria, dearie, I've known you now for eight years. I know most of what you've gone through. You are a young woman with a strong mind and steel at the core." Her usual clipped tone was tempered by kind eyes that weren't afraid to hold Astoria's fiery ones. "But there's always something to be afraid of." She reached out to push a wave of blue-black off Astoria's shoulder. The fight fell out of her. Only Lyra could have ever got away with saying such things without Astoria wanting to roll her eyes or cry.

"But that's perfectly all right. Fear can be managed… as long as you're dealing with it," she continued. "For what it's worth, that colour looks stunning on you. Very dramatic." Lyra winked. Astoria managed a small smile in return.

"Now drink up. I think this will be just the ticket." She handed Astoria a glass of something wretched-looking. _Bottoms up_ , she thought and threw it back.

Her parents' reactions hadn't been nearly as extreme as she had imagined. She wondered if it was related to Lyra's comment, that it was a way of her dealing with everything she'd been through. Astoria never doubted for a second that her parents cared for her - but sometimes, it felt like they cared way too much. Overprotective was an understatement. She had caught the shadow of worry or sympathy in their eyes when they didn't know she was aware they were looking at her. _I may be cursed - I might even drop dead to the floor at any moment - but should that rule every single decision in my life?_

Charming her hair had changed something in her. Ever since the failed potion plot when she was 9, Astoria had never misbehaved or broken rules. She started to wonder why that was, and came to the conclusion that her younger self had equated getting sick with acting out.

She felt a sad regret at how long this unconscious fear had driven her. Why had she never questioned it? It seemed that a childhood without some misbehaving was a wasted one.

 _Well_ , she thought, _my childhood may be over, but that doesn't mean it's too late to start now._ And with that revelation, Astoria started to push all her limits, one by one. That summer, she started going out for midnight walks in the gardens when she knew her parents were sleeping. She adventured into Muggle London alone after one of her St. Mungo's visits. One day, she'd told her parents she was going to lie down in her room; instead, she took the Floo to Diagon Alley and ate ice cream like a child who had never tasted sweets. She couldn't remember any time in her childhood when she'd ever been entirely on her own. She felt free, and properly independent. And she couldn't seem to get enough of it.

Her parents seemed to be entirely clueless about the matter. She had learned to hide her thoughts and feelings so well that they never suspected their daughter had become a secret rebel. It was harder to hide from Lyra, whom she saw so often and could tell when Astoria was being reckless with her health. But the greatest surprise was that her sister Daphne was the first to call her out on it.

One night, as she was silently locking the Manor back door behind her, she heard a rustle from a nearby bush. She spun around quickly, wand at the ready. Standing tall in the dim light, there was Daphne - dressed in a set of very tight-fitting robes and her arms crossed. She smiled smugly. "Well, well, what have we here? Prim and proper Astoria Greengrass, sneaking out."

"Shhh!" Astoria hissed. "Do you want to get caught?" She threw a panicked glance back at the manor for signs of movement.

"No, I don't. And since I doubt you want to get caught either, you should come with me." She turned on her heel and walked quickly (which was impressive, given the height of the heel) down the garden path away from the Manor.

Astoria wanted to call after her to stop, but didn't dare risk the chance that someone in the house would hear. _Fletcher would run to Mum and Dad faster than a greased Snitch…_

Finally out of earshot from the house, she grabbed her sister's shoulder to stop her. "Would you stop for a minute? Where are you going?"

Daphne smiled wickedly at her and threw her blonde hair over one shoulder importantly. "You mean where are WE going. I think it's high time you had more fun in your life."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Daphne, you are well aware that your idea of 'fun' is not the same as mine."

"Oh, lighten up. Admit it - ever since you came home with that monstrous hair of yours-" she made a face, "you have just been begging to misbehave." She cocked an eyebrow knowingly at her little sister. Astoria opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. Had her sister known she'd been sneaking out?

Without any real desire to argue, she shrugged her shoulders in surrender. "Fine. Whatever. Where are 'we' going?" She couldn't believe she was agreeing to this. _Just a quiet night in the gardens, that's all I wanted_ , she thought.

Daphne, oblivious to her sister's grumpiness, gave a muted squeal of glee and hugged her. "Oh, you are not going to regret this." She held Astoria's shoulders and looked distastefully down at Astoria's trousers and black sleeveless blouse. "But you will regret dressing like that when you see where we're going. "In fact…" Daphne raised her own wand and before Astoria could object, she found herself wearing only the blouse. It ended far short of her knees, Astoria saw. She looked at it, then up at Daphne, and glared.

"Oh, fine." Daphne gave another casual flick of her wand, and the blouse lengthened some. It now covered her thighs. Astoria couldn't help teasing her, by asking "what, no belt?" Daphne gave a girlish giggle and flicked her wand again. "Accessories, accessories." A silver belt made of long links hugged her hips, with long strings of smaller silver links hung from her earlobes. On top of everything, and before Astoria could stop her, she felt her practical shoes sprouting heels almost tall enough to rival Daphne's. _Oh, this is just bloody fantastic,_ she grumbled inwardly.

"I suppose it's the best I can manage," Daphne sighed dramatically, while Astoria rolled her eyes. "Now let's go!"

A side-along apparition later, Astoria found herself beside Daphne at the entrance to a dark cobblestoned alley. A single light shone from a sleek metal torch on the wall about halfway down, from where loud music pulsed into the night. "Come on!" Daphne said excitedly, and led them towards the light. Astoria followed her carefully and found she was having too difficult a time concentrating on not tripping over her ridiculous new heels to study any guilt or nerves she might have.

"Where are we?" Daphne glanced back at her sister over her shoulder.

"Falmouth. We're meeting Pansy and Tracey." Astoria made a face at her sister's back. She had definite opinions about the Slytherin girls Daphne was friends with. Without looking Daphne said "Don't make faces - you'll ruin your look."

Great Godric, had she added cosmetics too? Her sister was a cleverer hand at charms than she'd guessed.

As they approached the torch, Astoria was able to make out an iron sign underneath that read 'The Hidden Fiddle'. Just beside it was what looked like a door with no handle, flanked by two dark and narrow windows. The flame of the torch illuminated them like mirrors, and Astoria self-consciously snuck a look at what Daphne had done to her face while her sister pulled out her wand.

"Apertiportus." Daphne's wand shot a jet of sparks at the door, which slowly creaked open in response. The music tripled in volume.

"Come on!" Astoria was pulled inside. The corridor they entered into was long, dark and dimly lit in a way that caused everything in it to gleam dully like pewter. The music grew louder as they progressed.

Finally, the hall ended in a triad of openings. Through the one on the left, Astoria could see a sizeable dance floor. The music was pouring out from that room. Straight ahead was what looked like a long hallway to the toilets, and directly opposite from the dance hall was an intimate lounge with a long black marble bar. The room was scattered with tufted high-backed chairs, silver velvet settees and dark grey leather chesterfields. They were clustered around low bronze tables that glimmered in an ambient golden glow, lit by glowing crystal balls hovering a foot below the ceiling.

"Sweet Morgana, Daphne. Where have you taken me?" Astoria was in love. The beauty of the room instantly made her feel more at ease. She was reminded of the single time her sister had shown her the Slytherin common room with its tufted settees and cool stone walls. She'd been sufficiently impressed… but this was a thousand times more… well, sensual, really.

Daphne didn't answer what she must have dismissed as another of her sister's rhetorical questions, and instead charged across the room to a cluster of people that Astoria instantly recognized as Slytherins from her sister's year. Yes, there was Pansy and Tracey, but also with them were Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy.

Pansy made a show of hugging Daphne and squealing in delight. Astoria was momentarily distracted by wondering whether she had ever in her life made a sound as shrill. She was thus caught off guard then when Daphne introduced her to everyone there.

"Everyone, this is my baby sister Astoria. She was at Hogwarts a couple years after us, but she wasn't a Slytherin. We won't hold that against her, will we?" Daphne's charm was on full force, and everyone laughed.

"Of course we will," teased Blaise. He looked appraisingly at Astoria, and apparently liked what he saw, because he winked lustily at her. Blinking with surprise, Astoria turned to look at someone else - anyone else. Her eyes fell on Draco.

He was sitting in one of the ornate high-backed chairs, and luckily he wasn't looking at her. In fact, he wasn't really looking at any of his friends. Astoria thought he looked as if he were somewhere entirely different.

She sat down on the chesterfield with Daphne, who immediately launched into the conversation. Apparently Millicent Bulstrode had become engaged, and the group of them were gossiping about what desperate groom would want such a creature. Astoria remained silent and listened; she had always assumed Millicent was one of their friends and couldn't figure out the sudden enmity towards her. A few minutes was enough to demonstrate that that was simply how her sister's friends interacted. Apparently anyone not present, friend or foe, was fair game for gossip and judgment.

Feeling very much the outsider, she looked back at Draco. He was watching the group passively, still giving Astoria the feeling that he was barely there. Pansy was sitting in a settee right beside his chair, and often made flirtatious comments or suggestive gestures to try and get his attention. He smirked distractedly at most of them, ignored the rest.

 _What a spoiled brat_ , Astoria thought. _He hasn't changed a whit since that summer day when Tullia and I…_ She instantly cut off her train of thought, not wanting to go there. Instead, she tried to distract herself by grabbing a drink off the tray the bartender had just approached the table with.

"Bottoms up," she said, to no one in particular, and threw the whole drink back. The cocktail turned out to be a Gilly Sour - what tasted like gillywater, sour lime, and a strong clear liquor that made her throat burn. Only after she set the glass down at the table did she realize that it wasn't a shot glass. _Whoops_ , she thought. _That's going to hit fast._

She straightened up, only to discover that Draco was staring at her.

"Knut for your thoughts?" she said to him, her voice ringing with irritation. _Do I even want to know?_

Draco, who had also taken a drink off the tray, raised an eyebrow and took a sip. "I've just never seen a well-bred witch throw back a whole glass of anything that quickly before."

Astoria's cheeks suddenly burned. She sat up straighter, furious with her blush. "It just so happens I've had a fair amount of practice with swallowing large..." She cut herself off abruptly before saying 'potions'. _Great Godric_ , she thought. _Shut your gob before you let something slip! These are exactly the people you need to be careful saying things around._ It had been so long since she talked to anyone other than her family or Lyra that her social skills had become rusty. _Time to relearn the habit of hiding things_ , she thought.

Draco was still watching her, waiting for her to finish speaking. "I can't wait to hear how that sentence ends," he smirked, his insinuation clear.

Astoria understood what he was getting at immediately, and was a little disappointed at him taking the easy shot. But it was better than raising suspicion about her illness, so she decided to go with it. Astoria arched her eyebrow aristocratically and shot back. "Oh, I'm sure that a fine young bloke like you can finish on your own." She sent him an intentionally cryptic half-smile and turned her back on him, diving into the other conversation as if it were the most interesting thing she'd heard in decades.

Draco was staring at her, stunned to silence. He'd barely ever met this girl before, and yet here she was, spitting some obscene dismissal and brushing him off like a common wizard off the street. For a second, he wondered if this blue-haired harpy even knew who he was.

How dare she, Malfoy fumed silently. She had attracted his attention now, and he looked her over critically. She looked like a freak with that hair, he thought. And yet… there was something oddly alluring about it. Daphne's little sister was a fascinating combination of high contrast: midnight blue waves and smooth pale skin; upper-class manners peppered with smartass remarks. She avoided being the centre of attention, and yet she was seemingly indifferent of what other people thought of her. He watched as she sat beside her sister and followed the tedious conversation of his 'friends', occasionally adding her two knuts by skewering weak arguments and snapping out witty comebacks. All with social grace and a smile on her face, like her sister was known for.

As for Astoria, she was finally starting to enjoy herself. Not because the conversation was all that interesting (there was only so much society gossip she cared to comment on), and not because she missed the 'good old days' and the stuck-up 'sacred' pure-blood views that most of the people she was with subscribed to. But because she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed debating, disagreeing, being challenged. Her wits had dulled over the past year since the death of the Dark Lord. Her solitary escapes had been just that - solitary - and she hadn't encountered any fresh perspectives in so long, she'd nearly forgotten what it was like to have to defend an opinion. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until now.

As Tracey and Blaise argued over which Quidditch player was the fittest, a topic she had little interest in, she took a moment to watch her sister. It was because of her that Astoria was even here, really. Daphne was patiently listening to Pansy complain about how her life had been 'inconvenienced' by the Death Eater trials over the past few months, all the while shooting sulky looks at Draco - who was paying more attention to the armrest of his chair than to her.

Astoria was, frankly, confounded at Pansy's insensitivity. Did she not understand that the Death Eater trials were probably the last thing in the world Draco wanted to hear about? It was certainly the last thing on her list of conversation topics. Determined to change the subject, she was about to offer another round of drinks when her sister beat her to it.

"Pansy, no one wants to talk about that. It's such a buzzkill. What we need is more drinks." She signaled the waiter and continued talking. "Draco, were you at the quidditch match earlier? Falmouth vs Ballycastle? I assume that's why we're here in Falmouth tonight."

Astoria stared at her sister. She didn't think she'd ever heard her sister willingly talk about quidditch before, not to mention be able to name the teams of who had played today. Draco looked just as taken off guard.

"Yes, I was. My father and I have season tickets for the Falcons." Astoria did very well to not roll her eyes. _My father and I… ha. Still the same big-headed Malfoy show-off._ Now she definitely had to tease him.

"What a shame," Astoria sighed. "I had thought you would have had more sense than to be a Falcons fan. I bet the Bats ripped them to shreds. What was the final score?"

Draco looked over to Astoria, annoyed. "320 to 190 for Ballycastle." Astoria let out a short laugh, hoping it would wind Draco up further. Toying with a prat like him would be far more entertainment than anything else she could expect that night.

But he had more self-control than she'd given him credit for. He merely smirked and reached up to take two drinks off the approaching waiter's tray. He handed one to Astoria. "But it was a much better game than that dismal display of flying at the Ballycastle/Holyhead game last week. You can't possibly be a Bats fan. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart. You were a Ravenclaw, weren't you?"

 _That sly son of a…_ She caught herself gaping wordlessly, and tried for a scoff. Obviously, she'd underestimated the wit of Draco Malfoy. Maybe he did remember her from Hogwarts. But she doubted it; he had been so self-involved. And there'd been those rumours in her last few years. That he'd been a Death Eater himself, that his family had been one of Voldemort's closest supporters. That despite all this, he'd been cleared of most charges. She'd chalked it up to the usual pure-blood privilege, that some well-placed galleon-greased hands at the Ministry had mitigated the fallout. But she now looked at Draco with fresh eyes, wondering whether there was a strategic mastermind behind the posh exterior.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pansy was watching the two of them. She wasn't even trying to disguise her jealousy that Draco was giving his attention to someone else. _I bet she's used to always getting what she wants too_ , Astoria thought. She then glanced at Daphne, only to be surprised by the expression of smug satisfaction. Astoria looked questioningly at her sister, but was ignored.

She took a long sip of her drink and then looked back at Draco, catching him looking her over with the same kind of thorough examination she'd just treated him to. She stared back at him until he finally met her gaze.

"Looking for something?" she questioned him.

"Hardly," he replied coolly. But his eyes didn't leave hers. She felt a rush of heat flood through her, and for one anxious moment she thought she might be about to faint.

Instinctively, without thinking it through, she set the drink down with a thud and rose swiftly to her feet. The tell-tale signs of the curse whispered in the background, and she felt momentarily light-headed. Her vision started to go black, but it was such a familiar feeling for her, she kept her eyes open so as not to draw suspicion.

Her sister, though, had obviously been watching her closely enough to see her eyes unfocus. "You all right, Astoria?"

Blinking once and holding on to the side of the chesterfield, she looked straight at Daphne and said confidently, "Oh, I'm fine. That first drink just hit harder than I expected." She smiled, hiding her private fear as best as she could. "I'm just going to step out for a moment." Her sister's face held a shadow of worry, but as she too had been schooled in keeping Astoria's condition a secret, she only nodded and smiled in return.

Pansy snickered maliciously as she walked away, and Astoria overheard her say to Daphne, "A bit of a lightweight, isn't she?"

"At least she's amusing," Draco shot back, dryly. Astoria wasn't sure whether she should feel insulted or complimented.

A moment later, after a splash of water on her face, Astoria felt much better (if still a little tipsy). She knew, though, that if she stayed longer and drank more, the chance of something serious happening would only increase. The very last thing she wanted was to end up in St. Mungo's trying to explain to her parents (or worse, Lyra) what she was doing sneaking out to drink at a club nearly 200 kilometres away from home. Not to mention exposing her family to gossip. And Daphne would get in trouble too. But the new rebellious part of her didn't seem to care at all about caution. She was having fun for the first time in far too long. And Draco Malfoy… well, she'd never have believed that she'd be enjoying a battle of wits with the Prince of Slytherin.

With his bored grey eyes on her mind, she left the girls' toilets. She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Malfoy coming up the narrow hall.

 _He's obviously just going to the loo, moron_ , she told herself. But she didn't move. He was staring at her in a way that made Astoria wish that Daphne had made her blouse-turned-dress an inch longer.

It was like locking eyes with a snake. She stood, frozen, as he walked towards her. He looked as though he had meant to go right past her, but instead of stepping out of his way, she merely turned her body. He had assumed she would step back to let him pass, so when he moved by her, their entire fronts grazed.

It was as if it happened in slow motion. A zing of electricity seemed to crackle between them. Astoria felt herself flush with warmth. Draco's eyes still held hers captive. But a step later, he was past her and looking away. She exhaled deeply, and embarrassingly loudly.

He'd stopped, hearing her. The silence hung heavily. After what felt like a full minute to Astoria, he turned and repossessed her gaze. The flush of heat she had felt was now a feverish flame. She was about to stammer an apology, but found the words die in her throat.

"No witty comebacks?" His grey eyes were charcoal in the low light and were fixed on her in a way that made her itch to touch him again. She felt herself barely step towards him, as if in invitation.

Then, as fast as a lightning strike, they reached out for each other. Draco's hand clamped to the back of Astoria's head and pulled her lips towards his. Astoria had grasped his collar and pulled him closer.

She felt as though she were caught in an uncontrolled explosion. Her veins seemed to want to jump out of her skin, her heart was beating so hard. His hand on her neck was insanity, his lips on hers were ecstasy. She'd never been kissed like this in her life. It felt as though Draco was dying of thirst, and she was water. He devoured her, claimed her, ran his tongue teasingly over hers. Throwing all inhibitions to the wind, Astoria closed her lips around it and sucked lightly, rewarded with Draco inhaling in shock and drawing back.

They stood, bodies still pressed together, and stared at one another. Both were panting, as if they'd run a marathon.

"I think…" breathed Astoria, trying desperately to find comprehensible words (a difficult task after one has had their wits scattered all over the hallway). "I think you should come home with me," she whispered, her voice husky. _What?! Why did you say that? What the hell are you thinking?! she screamed mentally. You've done some crazy things lately… but this, this is mad. Do you care at all about what could happen?_

But she didn't care. Her body was lit up like a Hogwarts Christmas tree. She felt fully alive, unafraid of curses or memories, and all she wanted to do was bask in these sensations for as long as she could. And if that was dangerous… well, then, she needed a little more danger in her life.

Draco seemed to have reclaimed his self-control again but was still staring at her intensely. His hand reached up to cup her jaw, his thumb running over her swollen lips, and Astoria was thrown completely off-balance when he smiled softly - with no trace of arrogance or smirk.

"I agree," he breathed.


	2. One-Night Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. My first attempt at a lemon. It took a LONG time for me to write something I was happy with, so please let me know what you think of the pacing, the wording, the sexiness, the classiness, etc. etc.
> 
> Also, I really want to live in Astoria's bedroom.

Chapter 2

She had actually done it. Somehow, without arousing the notice of her parents or Fletcher, Astoria had smuggled Draco Malfoy into her bedroom. She'd been terrified someone would hear them apparate into the house, so instead she'd taken him the long way through the gardens, in through the back door, up the back staircase, and into her room at the end of the hall. He had followed her wordlessly.

With the tall chestnut doors closed and locked behind them, she cast a silencing charm on the room. She turned back to Draco to see him looking around.

Her bedroom had the usual high ceilings of an old Georgian manor, with heavy plum-coloured drapes covering the windows. In the middle of the room was an enormous carved panel bed with a waterfall of bedding in ambers and ochres. Tucked into the far corner was an antique velvet loveseat flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed to the gills with tomes of all shapes and sizes. Scattered in between the volumes were occasional artefacts of intriguing origins: a small dragon skull, an ancient-looking olivewood box, a framed silk handkerchief embroidered with runes. A telescope was pointed out the far window, and the ceiling had been painted a deep indigo that faded into black at the centre, speckled with gold stars that shimmered with their own light. She noticed that their house elf Fletcher had set a fire in the porphyry fireplace opposite the bed; its dim glow and the stars were the only sources of light in the room.

Astoria didn't feel any need to make it brighter. In fact, she was grateful for the dark. Now that she had him here, in her room, she felt her nerve failing. He was surveying the space and its contents which gave her a moment to think. She didn't quite know how to start again, to recapture that moment in the hallway. Unable to think of anything else, she took a few steps towards him. Her lips trembled, so she bit them. She knew if she opened her mouth and started talking, it would just turn into an endless stream of mindless babble.

After scanning the room, Draco turned back to face the approaching Astoria. His eyes were guarded again. _I wonder if he does this often. Visit girls' bedrooms. He must have guessed that I don't usually do this_. But she'd be damned if she made it seem obvious. She gave him a seductive half-smile, lowering her lids.

Draco studied her in the low light. He had thought that he'd understand her better, seeing her in her own room. But the space was an odd mix of the luxurious, the curious, and the simple. _Just like the blue hair_ , he thought. A study in contradictions. _Brave enough to smuggle me here, and yet she's nervous. And she's trying very hard to hide it._ The mix of innocence and nerve was incredibly appealing to him.

Acting on that attraction, Draco repeated the action he'd done at the club, raising his hand to caress her jaw and skim her bottom lip with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered and she tipped her head up invitingly.

"Nice place," he whispered before lowering his lips onto hers.

Astoria's head swam as he kissed her. It was different than before - tamer, more controlled. But it still made her entire body thrum. She couldn't think of another moment in her life she'd ever felt this many feelings. They swirled about, as if she were riding a speeding merry-go-round, flying way too fast without any idea of how she was going to stop. She was used to feeling dizzy and losing each of her senses one by one… but this was the complete opposite. It was as if someone had turned up the volume on everything.

His scent was rich and heady, like amber and citrus. His commanding lips on hers tasted fresh and sweet like a pear, and it felt as though they were trying to draw out a response that words wouldn't be able to offer. The deeply-coloured shadows around them blurred into the gilded paleness of the young man pulling her close. Her head swam with the intensity of it all. She had something to hold onto at least - Draco. Her hands snaked around his neck as if holding on for dear life, one burying itself in the silkiness of his hair. His hands rose to her collar and began to undo the first few buttons.

 _Oh, Merlin_ , she hummed greedily. _This can't be the smart thing to do. But I don't want it to stop._ She closed her eyes and happily surrendered to his explorations. He was sliding his fingertips over her collarbone with a featherlight touch. Light, teasingly, his hands danced beneath her blouse before undoing another button. And then another. Each time he exposed skin, he paused to skim softly over it. His lips had softened, echoing the pressure of his fingers as they aroused her.

Astoria was sure her knees would give way if she continued to focus only on what Draco was doing, so she pulled back with a start. His fingers froze, and his eyes met hers, hard and shining with lust and question. As a kind of answer, she started to undo Draco's shirt. She worked her way steadily down each button until it hung open, his smooth chest exposed. Its hard curves and planes looked like marble in the low light of the room. She reverently ran both hands down the front, parting the shirt open wider.

He'd undone Astoria's blouse as far down as her belt and had stopped when she'd drawn back. Instead of trying to fumble on blindly with the silver links, he slipped his hands under the straps of her bra and slid them and the blouse off her shoulders. He pulled back, inhaled huskily, and stared at her chest greedily.

Her breasts rose and swelled over the cloth restraining them with each fevered breath Astoria took. She felt heat pour through her, as if his just looking at her had set a fire right at her centre.

"See something you like?" she asked him, attempting to sound sultry. It must have worked, because Draco's eyes flashed.

"Oh yes," he breathed, then dragged his gaze back up to her face. His grey eyes were charcoal, burning brightly with more than just reflected fire. Perfectly composed, he drew his wand and, without a word, cast a nonverbal spell that caused her clothes to simply fall off her body and pool on the floor. She blinked, her eyes wide, but she didn't move to cover herself.

Draco smirked, the arrogant bastard, and that little smile did more to make Astoria's blood rush than anything she could have imagined. Feeling suddenly vulnerable and a little outmatched, she spoke without thinking. "Now take yours off."

His smirk grew, and he waved his wand. Astoria's knees turned to jelly at the sight of the hard, naked, fit man in front of her.

"You are..." she started, but couldn't finish. Her hands reached out to touch that smooth chest, to follow the line down his abdomen to stop just short of where blond hair began. Her gaze didn't stop with her hands.

She wasn't sure she would have been able to deal with his unapologetic hardness below if she hadn't been at least slightly inebriated… and even then. Her eyes darted away quickly, only to rest on his left forearm. A faint red scar in a familiar snake and skull pattern was still visible.

Draco had tensed when he saw her gaze rest on it. He jerked suddenly, twisting his arm so it wasn't visible to her and waited for her reaction.

It didn't make any sense to her, but for some reason, seeing the scar made Astoria feel instantly at ease with him. His hidden past was branded on his skin, glaringly obvious to anyone who saw. She knew only too well the burdens that came with hidden pasts and with guilt. What she found she wanted - more than anything in that moment - was to give him a release from it.

She looked up and met his eyes. He didn't look anxious, but part of him had become guarded and closed off. She stepped closer, their bodies a hair's breadth away from touching.

"You know," she breathed, her words slow and measured, "I can't think of another time in my life that I've ever wanted anything this much, this fast."

He didn't respond with words, but something in his stance released. He snaked his left arm around her naked body, and pulled her against him. The firmness of him pressed against her, and her eyes fluttered with the sensation.

His right hand drew across her face and then dragged it towards his to be devoured. It was everything: the feeling of her tongue against his, her breasts pressed up against his marble chest, his hardness grinding against her. His hands combed down her neck and torso until they clutched against her hips. While pulling her to him, he began to lead her in dance-like steps backwards. The soft covers of the bed hit behind Astoria's knees.

 _Keep going_ , she pleaded silently.

Understanding her willingness, Draco braced an arm at the small of her back and laid her out over the bed. Her indigo hair spilled in a pool around her, and she looked up at him. He looked gilded with the firelight behind him, and the dim lights of the stars above him made his light hair glow. Desperate to take him, she spread her legs wide.

When Draco's fingers grazed her slit, she was almost surprised by the sensation of how wet and ready she'd become. She had told him the absolute truth before - she had never wanted anything so much, so quickly. Despite all her logic and wisdom telling her that things were too fast, there was a connection with this golden boy that defied all her revered reason and rationality. All she knew is that she wanted him to be part of her, even if just this once.

"Oh Merlin," she panted - out loud this time. Draco had inserted a finger into her, probing her readiness. Her hands fisted the coverlets, feeling each muscle through her tense exquisitely.

"That's it," Draco coaxed as she moaned again. He had added another finger, and the sensation was enough to make Astoria forget her own name. She had shut her eyes with the intensity, and let her body do what it willed. It writhed and seized with pleasure under his touch.

Draco was enjoying the look of unadulterated rapture on her face. It complimented perfectly the tugging and squeezing around his fingers. It didn't take a stretch to imagine that same sensation on another part of him.

Astoria had always imagined going this far with someone to be more romantic, tender even. Tender was not how she would describe the potency of this encounter. The attraction, the bare want and need. Part of her wanted him to just keep stroking until she was as high as the star strewn ceiling. The other half of her wanted something more to take its place.

And then the fingers were withdrawn, and a perfect stillness marked the moment. Astoria didn't dare open her eyes yet, knowing what must be coming. She concentrated on the sensations, the scents, the sounds. A slight pressure, greater than the two fingers, pushed against her slowly. She heard him let out a slight groan and felt his right hand dance up her body. As the heat from his closeness touched her like a kiss, she heard him say "Open your eyes, Astoria."

She opened them, to see two perfect grey eyes watching her. He wasn't smiling exactly, but it was obvious he was as wrapped in the moment as her. The sheer pleasure and pressure from below rocked through her as he thrust slowly and steadily. She swam happily in those pools of grey, still locked with hers.

Even though the room had been soundproofed, Astoria still felt the urge to try and muffle her gasps and moans. After one particularly loud whimper, Draco drew closer to her face and silenced her with a kiss. No, correction, a devouring. To be filled and savoured in two places of her body simultaneously was more erotic than she'd ever imagined. As he kissed her, Draco came so close that their bodies brushed against each other from pelvis to chest. Her breasts pressed into him, giving way easily to his solidness. His hands had claimed each of hers and, with a twist of his pelvis, he rubbed against her in exactly the right spot.

She couldn't help it and cried out. Encouraged by her noisiness, Draco continued. He seemed to thrust deeper each time, and would hold himself up in her for one exquisite moment before pulling out to thrust back in. The feeling was unreal, Astoria thought - or she would have if she felt herself capable of any thoughts at the present.

They rocked together in that intimate dance, wordlessly matching each other's rhythms until she felt him speed up the movements. Guessing what this meant, she closed her eyes and chased her own release. It built and built, folding over itself with little peaks and free falls of pleasure. When Draco's thrusts became light and rapid, she held fast to help him on his way. She felt an unexpected wave of accomplishment when his face twisted in focus and he emitted a strangled cry. He was holding himself up into her, pulsing between her legs without moving, and Astoria knew he had climaxed.

She ran her hands up his back and down his arms, which were holding his body above hers. He was breathing heavily, and after a few moments he rolled off her. To Astoria's delight, he was still touching her; one of his hands clasped her thigh possessively.

As he lay beside her regaining his breath, she couldn't help it. She wanted her release as well. So with his hand clasping her, her right hand found its way to her silky centre and began to stroke.

It didn't take much, so built up had she been after such a night. Before Draco even realized what was happening, Astoria felt her body shudder and shake. He'd been lying back with his eyes closed, catching his breath and rearranging his composure when he felt her vibrate under his hand. Surprised, he turned to look at her as she arched off the bed, her neck pale and thrown backwards in pure delight.

 _She is not at all who I thought she was_ , he mused.

They lay still on the bed, both utterly destroyed. Draco's hand came off of her thigh, and Astoria's breathing began to slow. She found she couldn't wipe the grin off her face. Draco was quiet, but she appreciated the silence. She wasn't sure she'd be able to form words for at least another hour. After a full two minutes, she made an attempt to tame the smile into something more nonchalant and then rolled onto her side to look at Draco.

He was lying flat, hands folded comfortably on his chest, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. The ghost of a smile played over his face. He looked… cocky, she thought. _You probably look just as smug yourself_ , she thought. With her eyes twinkling, she sighed in a satisfied way. "Well. That was… pleasant."

His eyes darted over to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "You are completely ridiculous."

Astoria wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but she was feeling so wonderful that she decided to take it as one regardless. Flopping back over onto her back (though not as gracefully as she'd hope to) she replied, "Why, thank you. I do try to do my best."

Draco was surprised to find himself laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really laughed. _Likely just a side effect of sexual satisfaction_ , he assured himself.

Astoria heard the laugh and whipped her head around to stare at him. Laughing so freely was the last thing she'd expected. To be perfectly honest, she'd had absolutely no idea what to expect. This was, after all, Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin. Mr. Big-Head himself.

He was still staring at her ceiling. She looked up at it herself, smiling a little sadly at the constellations shimmering there. It was bittersweet to stargaze these days. As she took in the familiar glowing forms, she felt her eyes drawn to the sinuous form of The Dragon, slithering between the Bears high up in the Northern sky.

"Have you ever read Hyginus' _Poetica Astronomica_?" she asked him.

"I never cared much for Astronomy." His voice was flat, bored.

Undeterred, Astoria continued. "Neither did I, at first. I hated the class after my first lesson. Too many complicated names, measurements. But then Tu… I discovered that behind the names of the constellations and planets lay hidden the most fascinating stories." She quirked one corner of her mouth into a mischievous half-smile. "And by fascinating, I mean sexy. I suppose eleven might have been a bit young to learn about all the wild, sexual exploits of Greek gods, but then… I've always been precocious."

She turned back to look at him with a sultry, knowing expression. He looked amused, she thought with relief. She hated awkwardness almost as much as she hated stupidity. His eyes met hers, and flashed momentarily with something exciting. She was curious as to what had crossed his mind… but then wondered if she really wanted to know.

"Precocious, you say?" he said to her, his voice smooth as glass. "Does this have anything to do with your skill at swallowing things?"

Astoria could confidently say she was not ready to sleep yet.

An hour or so later, Draco had drifted off. Astoria's blood was still pumping too quickly to do the same, but the rest of her felt wonderfully heavy and satisfied. She'd learned just how handy her potion-swallowing skills really were. She'd also learned how to ask for her own pleasure. The sense of accomplishment she felt wasn't that different from learning a new challenging Charm, which made her wonder just how strange she really was. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined herself here, with Draco Malfoy in her bed. Nor could she have ever expected the care he'd shown her. As he slept, she watched him with ease. There was something so vulnerable and lonely about him lying there. Or maybe she was projecting her own fears and worries onto him.

The motion of his chest rising and falling calmed her. She gazed back up at the north end of the ceiling where the undulating curve of stars shimmered. Hyginus' words tickled the back of her mind as she began to drift off.

_'Today we see him forever asleep as the much-knotted, battered, and twisted Draco.'_

Astoria awoke with the sun blazing through a crack in the curtains. She looked over at Draco's form an arm's length away, sleeping soundly. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she snuck out from the coverlets and retrieved her robe from the closet. After wrapping herself in it, she tiptoed over to one of her shelves to retrieve a small inlay box. Her box of secrets.

Quietly tapping it with her wand and thinking her password, the box opened. Inside was a number of things from her Hogwarts years, but Astoria was searching for one thing only. Out of the box, she pulled a small sealed vial filled with a dark port-coloured liquid. Years ago, Tullia and Astoria had giggled over the idea of ever having sex. After all that they'd discovered together in the randy tales of ancient myths, they'd sworn that they'd do it how they wanted, when they wanted, and on their own terms. This had led them to covertly brewing their own 'prevention potion', based on a recipe Tullia had found in her mother's spell collection. They'd made enough for both of them, bottled it up, and swore they'd let the other know when they finally had cause to use it.

But Tullia wasn't here now. She wondered briefly what Tullia would think of her behaviour over the past 24 hours. Part of her thought she'd be appalled… she could almost hear Tullia's squeak of "Draco?! Draco Malfoy?! Are you mad?!" But on the other hand, she thought Tullia might be proud of her for finally calling her own shots. Astoria broke the wax off the little bottle, drained it, then placed it empty back in the box.

She had called her own shots. And even feeling slightly rough, she didn't regret any of it. Draco hadn't treated her like she was about to break. He'd used her as thoroughly as she felt she'd used him. To mutual satisfaction. If that wasn't the best way to begin having a sex life, she was happy to be ignorant.

After the box was back on its shelf, she pulled the little cord hanging beside her fireplace. As if it were like any other day, a steaming coffee set appeared on the table by the little loveseat tucked in the corner.

Now what? she wondered. It wasn't as though she was any kind of expert on the etiquette of 'the morning after'. She looked over to his slumbering form. His face was peaceful, younger, unmarked by lines of worry and anger. Why wake him? So she brushed her hair, put away her scattered clothes, settled onto the loveseat to drink her coffee, and only then let her mind replay what had happened the night before.

Draco awoke to find Astoria curled on the marsala-coloured velvet sofa with a mug in her hand and her mind far, far away. Her hair was still that ridiculous blue, and it matched her equally-ridiculous indigo robe splashed over with red poppies. He felt himself growing harder than what could be explained away by morning stiffness. Annoyed at his apparent inability to control his physical reaction to her, he sat up briskly with his back to her, reaching towards the nightstand for his wand.

Astoria saw him get out of bed from the corner of her eye, but didn't want to be caught staring at him. It wasn't until he came over to her, fully dressed in trousers and shirt, that she looked up at him. A wave of heat ran through her. Even wearing clothes that had spent a night on the floor, Draco Malfoy was enough to get the blood pumping. The beams of morning sunlight peeking in through the curtains made his hair shine like white gold, and his gray eyes were dark with sleep. _They looked that dark last night, but not from sleep._ She had been just thinking of them greedily raking over her naked body.

"I need to go." Draco said flatly. Astoria reacted to the emotionless tone with irritation and coolness.

"Would you like a coffee before you go?"

He very slightly raised an eyebrow, and she thought he might actually be amused by the suggestion.

"No."

"Well, the room is still soundproofed from last night, so you should be able to disapparate without causing a fuss." She stayed seated, waiting to see what he would do next. _Ball's in your court, Draco._ He gave a brisk nod of acknowledgement and turned away from her, obviously in a rush to leave. Astoria felt a pang of disappointment. She didn't want to give up this easily. Instead, she decided to try and annoy him into a response.

"Not even a kiss goodbye?" She tried to keep her tone as bored sounding as possible.

It worked. Draco's head whipped back, meeting her eyes. They were still dark, but Astoria was less sure that it was from sleep. She thought he looked like trouble and a thrill of excitement coursed through her. She seemed to be making trouble a habit. Astoria put her mug down on the side table and stood up slowly, pouring as much grace and indifference into the movement as she could. Her legs felt weak, but she held her ground and stared right back at Draco. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then without a word, he crossed the floor and yanked her suddenly against him. His mouth closed over hers. All she could think was how demanding his lips and tongue were, and how insistent his body felt against hers. She didn't shut her eyes. Instead, she watched his lust unfurl. His roughness excited her, as he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip. One of her hands raked down his back. They both gasped for air.

His hand dove in between the robe's front to possess a breast. The other grabbed her waist and pulled her against him even harder, so that she could feel just how badly he wanted her pressed against her abdomen.

Without any warning, he was spinning her around and bending her over the settee. Surprised but immeasurably aroused, she held herself there and listened as he unbuttoned his trousers. Desperate to touch him, she threw a hand back. Instead of letting it grab onto him, his own hand trapped it and pushed it back down to the cushions. Astoria posed in wait, drifting in a world of blind desire. She pleaded silently that he would take her fast and hard, with no control or thought.

He seemed to read her mind and shoved into her ruthlessly. She let out a short gasp, which swiftly transformed into a throaty moan. What had changed? she wondered. This lustful man seemed a completely different person than the Draco she'd spent last night with. All signs of his iron-grip control had vanished, and what remained was driving Astoria deliciously mad.

She braced herself on the settee and let herself be ravished. As if outside herself, she heard their ragged breathing somehow in time with the rhythmic slapping of his body meeting hers hard. He was relentlessly pounding into her, breathing even harder than she was. It sounded like a violent symphony of want.

His breathing changed and his hands suddenly clenched. She heard him let out a strangled cry. He held himself over her for an endless moment, his breathing still hard. Then without a word, he pushed himself back up, took a few steps away, and disapparated.

Astoria fell to her knees, her torso now resting on the velvet surface. Every nerve in her body was singing. Just when she thought she had learned to expect the unexpected. She had never felt so alive, so desired, so used and depraved. She stayed in that graceless position long enough for her breathing to slow down gradually and processed what exactly had just happened.

He'd released the iron grip on his emotions that had been present almost every other moment they'd spent together. The night before had been intimate and charged… but it had not been like that. Perhaps the only other time she'd felt such rawness from him had been when he had first kissed her in the club hallway.

She thought perhaps that Draco, like she, had had to learn how to hide his true feelings from even those closest to him. And when that guard came down… it was irresistible. And Astoria wanted more.


	3. Privilege and Tradition

Chapter 3

The rest of the day was a distracted haze for Astoria. She'd skipped breakfast, preferring instead to mull in her room all morning, and only came down to join her family when summoned for lunch. Her parents were oblivious to their youngest daughter's odd behaviour, but that mostly due to Daphne purposefully distracting them. Every so often, her sister would shoot her such gleeful, wicked smiles, and Astoria knew she'd have to withstand some kind of interrogation from her eventually.

It came later that afternoon while Astoria was curled up in the library's corner window seat, reading a book called Pure-Blood Families of Britain.

"Looking up the Malfoys?" Her sister had sneaked up on her silently, though she wasn't surprised by the appearance. She'd been waiting for Daphne to corner her all day.

"I'm sure they're in here," she said dryly, trying to sound bored. It was exactly what she had been doing.

Daphne chuckled and hopped up to sit on one of the rungs of the nearby rolling ladder. "I noticed that you and a certain young Malfoy both decided to leave the party at the exact same time… so either you shot him down and stayed up all night feeling guilty, or you earned those dark circles under your eyes." Astoria reached up instinctively to feel beneath her eyes, and her sister laughed. "So which one is it? Mark of shame or badge of honour?"

In any other instance, Astoria would have politely told her sister to mind her business. But she was feeling too satisfied with herself and smiled coyly instead. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes! Yes, I absolutely would. And I know you've got that whole 'Walled Republic of Astoria' complex, but as your older sister and the instigator of the night, I think I've got the right to ask… oh, let's say… three questions.

Astoria let a laugh escape. She did find the straight-to-business side of her sister pretty amusing. And since she was in a good mood, she relented.

"Fine. Three questions. But no details."

"No details, pffft. As if I want to know the colour of Draco's…"

"DAPHNE!" Astoria was appalled.

"Right. So. First question: did he come back here with you last night?"

"Yes."

Daphne squealed and clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, I knew it!" Astoria shook her head at her sister's silly mood. "Will you keep it down? I don't want Mum and Dad to know!"

Daphne waved at her dismissively. "They're on the other side of the house. Question two. Did he _stay_ here last night?"

Astoria smiled secretively and leaned her chin on her hand. "Yes."

Daphne squealed so piercingly that Astoria shot to her feet and clapped a hand over her face. "Will you PLEASE…"

"Alright, alright! I'm keeping it down. Right. Wow. Wow. I had a feeling. Sweet Merlin. Okay, third question. What's the deal? Do you want to see him again? Does he want to see you? Is my little sister FINALLY having some kind of torrid affair with a boy?"

Astoria ignored the comment about 'with a boy' and shook her head in mock disapproval. "That was three questions. But to answer the first of them, it was a one night thing. I doubt he wants to repeat the experience."

"What? Of course he does." Daphne shook her head disbelievingly. "Trust me, the way he was looking at you last night, I thought Pansy was going to jinx you into next week." She snorted. "Serves her right. She's been trying to get him back for ages and can't accept that she's ancient history. Why would you think he doesn't want to see you again? Did something happen?"

Astoria eyed her sister with annoyance. "You've already asked your three questions." Daphne responded with a very un-ladylike response.

"Well," Astoria couldn't help but laugh, "that's hardly a mature response."

"I'm the older sister here, I'll decide what's mature. What happened?" Astoria could tell her sister was genuinely interested, which was decidedly out of character. _Since when has she taken any notice of my life?_ The last serious conversation they'd had together had been about Tullia, and it couldn't have been more uncomfortable. But it was thanks to her that Astoria even went out to the club last night, so she felt she owed her at least part of the truth. She just wouldn't say more than she needed to.

"Daphne, I don't know what you were expecting. It was a one-time thing. He left very abruptly this morning. And I'm not reading into it." _But I think he might have been angry with me_ , she wanted to add. "He hardly seems the type to want to share a pot of Lovers' Oolong at Madam Puddifoot's."

"Hmph." Daphne looked thoughtful… maybe even frustrated? There definitely had to be something deeper going on. Had Daphne been planning for this to happen? And if so, why?

"Why are you suddenly so involved in my love life anyway?"

"I'm your big sister. Aren't I allowed to worry about your happiness?"

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Daphne. You've never been that into my personal life before now. You want something out of this." She looked at her sister more closely.

Daphne knew her sister was too smart to come to any other conclusion, but she wasn't going to show her cards just yet. "Of course I do - I always want my share of everything. But we have more important things to discuss. For example, how we get you and Draco in the same again." She smiled mischievously and Astoria could only throw her hands up in surrender.

* * *

It turns out that her sister had already come up with a perfect solution: her birthday. She was turning 21 this September, an age that her mother felt was 'quite old enough to start thinking about a respectable marriage'. There was a rather old-fashioned tradition in the pure-blood circles of a Coming Out ceremony. It had historically happened when a witch turned 17, but the unrest of the last few years had stopped many families from holding them. In Astoria's opinion, the whole thing was a stodgy, outdated pure-blood concept. But Daphne and her mother, and even her father, seemed outright excited for the chance to show off to society.

It became Hestia Greengrass's grandest ambition to throw her eldest daughter the most elegant affair that galleons could buy, with a suitably elegant invitation list to match. This list included all the eligible (pure-blood) bachelors in Britain.

Astoria had continued to puzzle over what her sister's matchmaker endgame was, but to no avail. The only conclusion she'd come to was that it had something to do with Pansy Parkinson. It had never been entirely clear to her whether the two Slytherins were more friends than enemies; they'd always been fighting over the attention of guys, or of house popularity, even the title of Prefect. Whether her sister's commitment to the 'Astoria and Draco Project' went beyond the usual enmity… she couldn't say. What had Pansy done to inspire such vengeance in Daphne?

Overall, though, most of her thoughts were on seeing Draco again. It bothered her she spent so much time thinking of him. It wasn't as though she even liked him as a person. He'd been a Death Eater, hadn't he? And if the rumours were true, he had actively tried to assassinate Dumbledore throughout his sixth year. Their night together hadn't completely changed her opinion of him being a narcissistic, entitled prat. But every so often, she'd remember the intensity of those grey eyes, or the way his body had pressed against hers, and she'd exhale hard. Yes, she wanted to see him again. And more.

The day before the party, her mother knocked on her bedroom door. She'd been reading a book on medicinal herbology, of all things, and didn't really want to put it down. But duty came first, and she told her mother to come in.

"Astoria, dear, I just wanted to see what you were planning on wearing tomorrow. Did you decide?" She took in how pale her daughter looked, especially with that wretched hair colour.

"I haven't yet, no."

"Well I think the dove grey is best. You don't want to take from your sister's special day, do you?" She pulled out dress robes from Astoria's wardrobe that were the colour of fog. "Yes, these ones I think. Fletcher doesn't need to take them in at all, does he?"

Astoria didn't even want to think about that. "I don't think so."

Her mother nodded. "One more thing I need to talk to you about," she said, sitting down primly on the facing chair. "That hair."

Astoria defensively raised a hand to it. Her mother continued before she could interrupt. "Please spare me the well-prepared defense I am sure you have assembled. Merlin forbid you do something without a five-point argument as to why. Your father was not at all impressed the day you came home with… that," she gestured at the navy locks. "But I know that things have been… difficult for you, and if that's your way of acting out, well, then, at least it's a safe outlet." Astoria's frown deepened.

"A safe outlet," she repeated blankly.

"You've never been one to act out, thank heavens - that's been Daphne's specialty." Her mother sighed, obviously thinking of the multiple fights they'd had over the last seven or more years. "So if dark blue hair is the extent of it, it could be worse. I'm sure you'll grow out of it."

Astoria was seething with annoyance and frustration. She should have been pleased to know that her parents didn't suspect a thing about her rebellious activities. Instead she felt patronised and barely noticed. "Thank you," she finally managed. "I suppose what comes next is how inappropriate it would be to have blue hair at tomorrow's party?"

Her mother smiled with satisfaction. "You've always been the bright one, Astoria. I do miss your brown hair. You look so dignified. But I understand if you want to return to the blue afterwards. I'll permit it." Her fingers brushed a wave behind her daughter's ear.

She wanted to smack her mother's hand away. She'll permit it?

Before she had steadied herself enough to say anything in response, her mother asked one of Astoria's most hated questions.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Mother." Her mouth was tight when she said it, but she offered a smile to help prove it was true.

Hestia nodded and patted her cheek. "Good. Best to get lots of sleep for tomorrow, just in case."

"Yes Mother."

With an approving nod, her mother left the bedroom.

* * *

September the 28th was sunny that year. The air was perfumed by the late-summer gardens, brimming with roses, sage and windflower. Gold-shot green canopies had been magicked over the wide stone gallery to cast a welcome shade. Charmed golden dragonflies, like mini snitches, flitted and dashed above the crowd that milled there. The guests had dressed for the warm weather, in light coloured silks and linens. Astoria had even spotted some rather fanciful hats as the guests arrived.

The Greengrass family stood by the living room french doors, waiting for the perfect moment to walk out to join the crowd. A throne-like armchair had been set up by the Green Man fountain; as per tradition, Daphne would 'hold court' from there. It was customary for each of the attending families to approach Daphne and be formally introduced.

Daphne sparkled. She looked like a wood nymph in fitted robes of an eye-catching leaf green, her blonde hair a golden cascade down her back. Their parents had given her a beautiful set of earrings and a necklace for her birthday, goblin-made gold studded with light green diamonds. She glided confidently to her throne and sank into it with effortless grace. The early autumn sunlight dazzled all who looked on as it hit the gems and the water of the fountain behind her. She was beautiful, Astoria thought. Like a constellation brought to life.

It suddenly occurred to her, in a way it hadn't before, that the end goal of this day was for Daphne to end up promised, possibly even engaged. _She's only 21_ , she thought. _Is she really all right with this spectacle of a tradition?_

But Daphne was smiling as though she'd been crowned empress, and no one looking at her would suspect anything but pure joy and delight at the day that lay before her feet. Astoria had often envied Daphne's place in the world, but not today.

The guests assembled themselves into a steady queue, and Astoria's mind blurred with the parade of family names and young men. She felt more like an accessory than a person. It didn't help that the dress robes she stood in were, in fact, a little too big for her after all, and she was more than half-convinced her mother had chosen them so she blended in with cobbled stone of the house.

The Notts had come, and the Flints. Lowes, Selwyns, Wilkes… they came and went. Astoria was momentarily shaken from her inattention when none other than Neville Longbottom and his grandmother stepped up.

"Astoria! It's good to see you." He smiled at her with genuine warmth, leaving Astoria to wonder what she had ever done to deserve it. Neville was the first of the young men to even acknowledge her, and she found she was happy to see him. "It's good to see you too," she answered politely - perhaps too politely, but she at least allowed her face to soften a bit into a real smile. A memory flashed like lightning in the back of her mind.

_Neville squeezed Astoria's hand. 'She was close to you, wasn't she?" Astoria heard his words over the low static of the radio, but she couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer. It was the past tense that stabbed like a cold dagger. She managed a nod without meeting his eyes. He looked right at her, his expression grave and serious, and said "I'm so sorry." Tears started to run over her cheeks._

Her head twitched. _Don't think about it_ , she ordered herself. Neville had moved on to being formally introduced to Daphne, so presumably no one had seen Astoria's momentary paleness. Before the Longbottoms processed away, Neville turned back to Astoria. "I hope we can talk later." His words were chased with another intimidatingly friendly smile. Astoria nodded, once again at a loss for words.

She was attempting to reassemble her face into its emotionless, polite mask again, only to turn back to find Draco Malfoy standing in front of her. With his parents.

It was comical. Or rather, she hoped that's how she would remember it when she looked back on the moment. Draco had been watching Neville with what could only be described as 'seething distaste' when Astoria's gaze fell upon him. Taken unawares by his sudden manifestation, her mouth gaped like a fish and her body froze as though someone had cast Petrificus Totalus on her. He looked back at her disastrously ridiculous pose, and did an honest-to-goodness double take.

 _Oh, you are a complete moron Astoria,_ she chided herself. _You are a stupid, clumsy little girl._

The awkwardness continued to mount as they stared at each other and said nothing. Narcissa and Hestia were exchanging pleasantries and didn't even notice the interaction. Astoria, finally in control of her own actions, broke the gaze and looked away briefly. She could swear she saw Daphne's eyes sparkle as she watched them.

"Hello Draco," she said as she turned back to face him.

"Astoria," he responded just as flatly. His eyes locked again with hers, and she began to get that light-headed feeling she knew only too well. She forced herself to try and breathe like a normal witch.

Finally, Draco moved away from her to be presented to Daphne. She wanted to clutch at her chest with relief, but if she did, her mother would automatically assume the worst. She instead clenched her hands into fists. The sensation of her nails biting into her flesh helped pull her back into reason and reality.

_This is what you wanted, wasn't it? To see him again?_

She only looked back at Draco when she was sure he was walking away from them. His wheat blond hair was practically white in the sunshine, and the fabric of his robes pulled taut against his shoulders in a way that made Astoria want to sigh out loud.

 _Yes, this is what I want_ , she answered herself.

The rest of the queue felt endless and repetitive, and her legs were aching for the last ten minutes of it. Astoria wasn't sure she'd ever be able to stand up again once she found a chair. At last the final family walked away, and Astoria was freed to get food and to mingle with the guests. Encouraged, even. Her father (of all people) had suggested that she too be on the lookout for 'a suitable pairing'. Right now, Astoria considered herself suitably paired with stuffed mushrooms and other hors d'oeuvres.

As she picked up a mini tarragon chicken tartine from one of the hovering plates, the shadow from an approaching figure cast over her.

"It really is good to see you. Outside Hogwarts, I mean." It was Neville. Astoria wanted to stuff the tartine in her mouth and not have to say anything, but she was absolutely certain her mother would somehow sense that breach of manners and be on her before she could say 'gruyere'.

"Neville. You're looking very well." He grinned. He was looking very well. He'd grown even more, if that was possible, and was practically towering over Astoria. She figured she hadn't seen him in person since, well… since the evacuation of Hogwarts. But there had been many pictures over the last couple years of him in the Prophet; he'd been very involved in the restoration of Hogwarts.

"What are you up to these days?" She knew it was one of those stupidly polite questions she'd been drilled on before the event (thank you, Father), but she was sincerely interested in his answer.

"I think what you mean to ask is 'What are you doing here?" He smiled again, and gestured to a nearby couple of chairs. "Your legs must feel like murder after standing for almost an hour."

"Yes. Great Godric, yes." She exhaled in relief. "Please let's sit. And also yes to your reinterpretation of the first question."

Neville, the consummate gentleman, held her plate as she arranged her robes after sitting. "It was my idea, if you can believe it. Gran didn't really want to come. But I convinced her. I told her that the war with Voldemort may be over, but we still have a battle to fight when it comes to the pure-blood mindset. Being a Longbottom gives us a voice in spaces like this - something muggleborns or newer wizarding families don't have. If we can't have conversations about reconciliation here, we'll never make anything better and the war will just repeat itself in another generation."

Astoria was gobsmacked and tried not to fish gape for the second time today. She thought she remembered how decent a person Neville was, but even that memory seemed to have faded.

"I knew you'd been working on the restoration at Hogwarts, but I don't think I realized you were such an activist."

Neville guffawed. "Hardly an activist. Just trying to figure out what to do with my future, I suppose. And if Hogwarts taught me anything, it's that coming together despite our differences is the most meaningful thing you can try to accomplish in life." He gave her a half-smile, full of humility. "It's all we can do, isn't it? Try to make things better?"

His words were earnest, and Astoria felt a wash of guilt and shame. Here she had been wrapped up in her own issues for the past few years, not giving a passing thought to the greater wizarding world. She put her hand on his and squeezed, as he had once done for her. "I'd say you've been doing more than trying. You remind people how to be decent. Are you thinking of going into the Ministry, Neville?" He blushed and laughed out loud at that.

"No, that is one thing I have not considered. I'm no politician. But I don't like division. And so I try to pick the right places for a fight nowadays." His gaze flittled over Astoria's shoulder and hardened. "Today, for example. Not a place for a fight." She got the sense that the statement was self-directed and turned around.

Approaching the chairs, walking like he owned the place, was Draco Malfoy. Of course. He had that bloody arrogant smirk on his face again.

"Longbottom," he drawled. "Couldn't compete for Daphne, so trying for the younger sister eh? That's rather Slytherin of you." Neville's face reddened with embarrassment and anger.

"Hello Draco. I see you haven't changed much." Neville rose out of the chair in a controlled move and stood facing Malfoy. They were the same height now. He took a deep breath, as though he were swallowing the other words he wanted to say, and turned back to Astoria. She could see his smile was not as natural as it had been.

"I best go find Gran. She's probably tearing a strip off some poor family. I'm glad we got to talk for a moment. I hope it isn't too long until we meet again." And before Astoria could get up and respond, Neville had walked off.

Draco seemed unphased by the confrontation. He settled himself into the chair that Longbottom had just vacated, a glass of Bollinger in one hand. "What was that tosser boring you with?"

Astoria promptly forgot every possible reason she had been looking forward to seeing him again. "Neville was being an incredibly decent person and actually talking to me like I'm human and not a garden statue. You could probably take some notes." she retorted.

Draco didn't seem at all put off by the outburst. "What is he even doing here? The last thing I heard was that he was posing for photo ops at Hogwarts' ribbon cutting. He thinks he's the newest Harry Potter, his head's gotten so big."

"Neville Longbottom is the least attention-seeking person I know. Do I detect a touch of jealousy?"

Draco barked out a single laugh and tossed back most of his champagne. "Jealous of what? And since when were you chummy with that overgrown Pumpkin Pasty?"

Astoria closed her eyes in frustration. "Stop. Just stop. To think I thought you might have matured a bit since school."

The smirk stayed in place as his expression chilled. "I'm not a nice person, Astoria. I thought you knew that." With a practised movement, he flicked at his glass with his wand and it refilled. Astoria wondered how often he had used the spell. She was all too familiar with escapism to not recognize it when it was in front of her.

"I'm hardly one to judge."

The chilliness dissolved into real laughter. "You? You're a mouse, Astoria. I bet you haven't hurt anything more than a doxy your entire life."

Astoria took the glass out of Draco's hand and threw it back. "You shouldn't presume things."

He leaned over and plucked the empty glass from her hands. His face was inches away from hers. "Poor little Astoria Greengrass," he sneered. "Take away the blue hair, and all you've got left is a spineless princess that thinks she knows what suffering is."

She leaned closer to him, enraged. "At least I don't take it out on other people," she whispered sharply.

The air sizzled between them. She couldn't figure out if she wanted to slap him or drag his mouth to hers. He seemed to be handling similar emotions. Wanting this ridiculous display to be over, Astoria pulled away in a controlled movement and returned to her previously prim, stiff-backed posture.

Draco took his time recovering his control. He finally pulled back and looked away towards the hubbub. She followed his line of sight. Daphne was sitting on the wide stone railing at the end of the patio, at least five young men vying for her attention.

"I hate these things," Draco murmured. Astoria was a little surprised by the open confession.

"And here I thought that the Malfoys loved all things privilege and tradition." Draco looked down at his robes, which he picked at distractedly.

"I'm sick of privilege and tradition."

"Then why did you come?"

He looked up at her, suspicious of her question. "My mother thought it would be best for our image to be seen in good society." His disdain for the concept of it was clear. She watched as he looked back to the milling sea of linen and silk.

"I hate them too," she offered as a peace offering.

"Says the mousy brunette wearing a silk potato sack. Did your mother dress you to blend in with the house?" Astoria shocked him by laughing. He turned back, surprised.

"I had the exact same thought the minute I stepped out on the patio." The expression of faint amusement on his face fed something in Astoria, and she felt a momentary pang. How is it possible to hate someone one moment, and want to move mountains to make them smile the next? "I don't suppose you're familiar with the Greengrass motto?"

"No, I can't say that I am. My mother would be ashamed of me."

"Legatum, Decum et Officium. Legacy, Dignity, and Duty."

Draco smirked harder. "That sounds…"

"Full of privilege and tradition? Don't I know it." She rolled her eyes.

"So to hell with it."

Astoria laughed. "Yes, right, okay. That's an option." She looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap as she'd been trained.

"I'm utterly serious." And he did sound serious. Something in his voice was graver, weighted. "To hell with it all. I'm sick of it. Aren't you?"

She looked up at him. "What does 'to hell with it' even mean?"

His fingers reached out and touched her temple, dragging them back to stroke her hair. Something heavy and alive churned in her.

"Why did you turn your hair blue?"

Why did she? At the moment, all she could think was how loudly her blood was pulsing through her, and how idiotic she was for being attracted to such a man as Draco Malfoy. Spineless, he'd called her. He was right.

"I.. wanted to change something. Make something different. Have control over some small part of my life."

Draco pulled his fingers away, but kept his eyes locked with hers.

_Great Godric, Astoria. He practically has you on your knees again. So much for wanting control over anything._

"Let's start with ditching the onlookers," he suggested. "Where do you go to be alone around here?"

Astoria blinked. How had they got back here so quickly? But oh, she wanted to disappear with him, she realized. She wanted to rather badly.

"Come with me," she told him.


	4. Question or Command

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I edited this chapter muuuuultiple times before I was happy with it. This is the beginning of something exciting, folks! Please please please tell me how you like it in the comments or by messaging me.

Light was spilling through the windows of the library. She walked over to her favourite corner window seat and looked out at the guests below. It was the same view that had set her and Tullia to plotting so many years ago.

"We should be alone up here. And we can keep an eye on the party at the same time." She spotted her parents engrossed in conversation with the Notts.

"You're the worst rule-breaker I have ever met," Draco chastised. He stood in the centre of the room and looked around curiously. "Why are you so afraid of getting caught? What would they even do? Lay on the passive-aggressive guilt trip? Confine you to your palatial bedroom suite?"

Astoria pulled one of the curtains to partially block the view and turned back to scowl at him. "If they 'catch me' here in the library, then I can say I was giving you a tour of the manor's collection. Plausible deniability." She turned to face him. "I won't apologize for having a back-up plan."

"You think too much," he said in reply.

"Are you opposed to logical thought?" she retorted. _But he's not wrong,_ a voice in her head whispered.

He meandered over to one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace and perched on its arm. "There's a time and a place for it. You'll never be much of a rebel if you aren't willing to leap without looking, with no back-up plans or ways to reverse it. That blue hair for example." He gestured vaguely at her head. "Changing your hair is barely a rebellion. And then you fall right back in line when your mother snaps her fingers. When was the last time you took a real, uncalculated risk?"

He was definitely getting under her skin. What had her mother said earlier? _Merlin forbid you do something without a five-point argument as to why._ Even her mother agreed with Draco. What a thought.

So she threw her hands up in defeat. "You win. I'm wrong, you're right. Thought is overrated. To hell with it all."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "To repeat your earlier words, what does 'to hell with it' even mean?"

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought. She walked towards him, not stopping until she was between his spread legs. She was so close that she could feel the heat from his thighs. _His hair smells like cedarwood_ , she thought distractedly.

"Show me how to be a proper rebel. Since you seem to be such an expert on the subject."

Draco's eyes flashed. "The little mouse is issuing commands." One of his hands clasped around Astoria's wrist and pulled her incrementally closer. He was tantalizingly hard against her centre.

"You want to play with fire, do you? Questions and Commands?" The words were quiet, dangerous even.

She'd heard of the game, but never played it. It had been something the more popular students at Hogwarts did after smuggling in firewhisky and getting pissed. She'd always been too afraid to put herself in a situation where people might ask her questions. Or get herself in situations that she couldn't get out of easily.

Was she serious about crossing lines? Did she want to get to know Draco Malfoy better? Or, ultimately, get to know herself better? Was she overthinking this, like she did absolutely everything else in her life?

"Yes," she heard herself say. "To hell with it."

Draco's eyes flashed. "Excellent. My turn now. Question or Command, Astoria."

Astoria blinked and pulled back a little. She refused to lose a battle of wits with Draco Malfoy.

"How do you figure it's your turn? I just answered a question."

Draco's smirk was back in full force. "You commanded me to show you how to be a proper rebel. Both questions I asked were to clarify the command. So now it's my turn."

Astoria eyed him suspiciously.

"That's disturbingly logical of you."

"So incredulous. Ravenclaws don't have the monopoly on logic, you know. You have to know the rules before you can break them. Or bend them, or dodge them. So I ask again," he said, his hand slowly creeping up her arm, making the hair stand on end as it travelled. "Question or Command?"

It was hard to think with the electrical current of his touch running through her. "Command."

"Take off your pants and give them to me."

"I beg your pardon, my pants?" She was sure she was gaping like a fish. Again. What had she got herself into?

"Yes, your pants. Unless you would prefer I take them off for you?"

What would he possibly want them for, other than just to get a rise out of her? She would refuse to rise to such bait. If she gave them to him, when would she get them back? Astoria did not relish the thought of having to rejoin the party without undergarments.

"Fine," she spat, irritated at her own timidity. _They're just pants, right?_ _Babbity Rabbity and broomsticks, I'm probably going to regret this._ But the grin spreading across Malfoy's face made her brave. He didn't think she'd do it.

She took a few steps back from him, her eyes never leaving his. Somehow, she managed to get her hands up the back of her skirt without revealing anything in the front. Her heart beat a rapid staccato. Pouring every effort into looking graceful, or at least not clumsy, Astoria slid the simple cotton undergarment down her legs and stepped out of it. Eyes still on him, she straightened up again and passed over her knickers.

 _Mischief accomplished_ , she thought with a touch of pride. As he plucked them from her hand, she couldn't help ask. "What are you going to do with them exactly?"

Draco didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled his wand out and vanished them. She couldn't help it, she openly gaped in surprise.

"I'm now going to be uncharacteristically lenient and pretend that that question was not your turn. This is obviously your first time playing this game, and it's just too easy to take advantage of your ignorance."

 _Obviously my first time, my foot._ _He's trying to rile me up._ Determined to regain some footing, Astoria straightened up primly and walked over to the near (but safely distanced) chesterfield. She took her time sitting, rearranging her dress across the tufted cushions as if settling in for high tea. He watched her patiently and wordlessly, shifting to sit fully in the chair.

"Very well," she said when she had dragged it out long enough. "Question or Command?"

He didn't hesitate. "Question."

She could ask him anything. Anything. His answer might even be true, provided he honoured the rules of the game. She weighed her options. It was too soon to ask anything about the war or Hogwarts. Asking a stupidly simple question like 'what's your favourite colour' might get him to laugh and tease her for being simple (she did like hearing him laugh), but that felt too much like something Daphne would do.

"What's the most precious object you own? It has to belong to you, not your family."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "The most precious object I own."

"That's what I said."

"That's not a horrible question."

Astoria leaned forward, supporting her chin on her palm. "I tend to catch on quickly."

Draco hummed and hawed, sprawling his legs out and generally looking very at home. His fingers were steepled, and he tapped them together as he thought.

"My broom."

Whatever Astoria was expecting, it was not that.

"Your broom? Out of everything you own?" She made no move to hide her scepticism.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I like to fly."

Astoria shook her head in disbelief. "You're really that serious about playing Quidditch."

"I am. Ready for your turn?"

"As ready as one can be for this game." Her voice was a little sharp with irony. It was somewhat shocking to her how quickly she had dropped her polite, filtered demeanour around him.

"Excellent. Question or Command?"

She was tempted to choose Question. But then he would be able to ask her anything, and she wasn't sure she could say no. Or lie. Or want to lie.

"What happens if you ask me a question that I don't want to answer?"

"You read all your textbooks before you even got to class, didn't you?" He shook his head amusedly. "You can switch to a Command. And vice versa. If you refuse to do either… well, that's when the rules get a bit fuzzier."

"If I can switch out, then I choose Question."

Draco took his time. She watched him thinking, wondering where his mind was going. He looked so at home in her library, reclining in the tall leather wingback as confidently as Daphne had presided from her throne on the patio. Arrogance, confidence… two sides of the same sickle really.

"What are you most afraid of?"

She had never had to face a boggart, thank the stars. Boggarts were usually a third-year subject of study, and she'd had the incompetent Professor Umbridge that year. What _was_ her greatest fear? She wasn't afraid of dying; she'd come to terms with her inevitable end long ago, and it didn't scare her any more. She'd often feared letting her family down, but it didn't really paralyze her. Thinking about her family, though, and about her earlier conversation with Neville, a lead fist clenched her belly.

"I'm afraid that my life will be meaningless. That I'll miss the opportunity to make a difference… make it worth something. Anything, really." She spoke uncommonly softly, as if to somehow lessen the force of the words by lowering the volume.

Draco was looking at her carefully, his expression carefully arranged to express nothing. She suddenly realized that he had probably asked that question as preparation for a future Command. _This game teaches you as much about the person thinking up the questions or commands as it does the person answering them._

"Right." She broke the silence. "That was hardly a rebellious answer, I know. Forget I brought it up. It's my turn now. Question or Command?"

"Command."

She tapped her finger to her lips in thought. What could she ask him to do that would reveal something about him? Something she didn't already know? It made her realize how little she knew about Draco Malfoy beyond his reputation at Hogwarts. Was he more than just a privileged scion? Were the rumours of his being a Death Eater true? If so, she imagined there was very little he hadn't already done. What could she possibly ask him that would reveal anything? Or should she just abuse her power over him and make him do something foolish?

Draco interrupted her thoughts. "Stop overthinking it. Just say what comes to mind."

She scowled. Of course she had been overthinking things. She overthought everything. It bothered her that this prat knew her so well, so quickly. He'd pushed all her buttons since he'd come up to her talking to Neville. Then he'd stroked her hair and she'd followed him like a puppy.

Her hair.

"Cut or dye your hair in a drastic way," she commanded.

Draco's face was a blank page. She had him!

"Oh, come now Draco, it isn't that big a deal. Changing your hair is barely a rebellion, isn't that what you just said?" His face twisted into a scowl, and she wanted to whoop in triumph.

"I suppose you want me to do this right now," he said tightly, as though he was forcing the words out. Astoria was quick to notice that he'd phrased the statement so as not to be an unintended question. _I wonder how many times he's played this game before._

"I know it's painfully obviously that it's my first time playing this game, but from what I understand, Commands need to be done immediately for the game to continue. You can correct me if I'm mistaken." Draco wasn't the only one carefully choosing his phrasing.

"I choose a Question instead, then." He was… sulking? He was actually sulking! _What's next, him rolling his eyes and saying things aren't fair?_

"Draco Malfoy, you are not the rebel you advertise to be." She clucked her tongue disappointedly.

His eyes flashed. "I am not going to disgrace my family's already-tenuous social standing by garnering unnecessary attention at some ridiculous garden party." His voice was controlled, but she could tell he was livid. _Aha, a peek behind the curtain at last._ And she understood, at last. Draco was as motivated as she was to avoid attention. He would know exactly what it was like to fear that people were talking about you while your back was turned, or gossiping freely about every action you took, every word you uttered.

She suddenly saw her blue hair for the sullen, insignificant resistance that it was. No one besides her parents was going to notice or care if the young Greengrass girl changed her hair. With a little more sympathy now, she smiled at him, trying to convey without words that she understood what he was saying.

"That's a fair point. So I suppose I had best ask you a question now." Draco's tightly controlled expression loosened. She had intentionally used his own non-question wording, and he'd noticed. She'd hoped he would.

"Yes, you best get on with it."

"Why did you take my pants?"

She had wanted to ask him that question right away, but didn't dare give him the reaction he'd been seeking. She suspected that he'd used the Command before, but for what purpose she wasn't sure. And unanswered questions didn't sit well with the curious Astoria Greengrass.

"To make you uncomfortable," he replied easily. "And to test your commitment. You didn't react the way most do." He sounded confused, maybe even annoyed? As if her lack of reaction was a personal slight.

"And how have others reacted?" He was watching her carefully, and she thought he would call her out on her second question. Instead, he continued to talk.

"Most girls get giggly and randy, or they get uncomfortable and sullen. Either way, it tends to shift the balance of the game in my favour. But you… you followed the command, settled into that sofa as if nothing had happened, and then asked me a rational, interesting question. That tells me you're used to unreasonable, uncomfortable requests and commands." He was careful not to have formed it as a question, but Astoria could tell he was watching for some sort of answer. She was more determined than ever to show no reaction.

He watched here for a full minute of silence before speaking. "Question or Command."

Astoria bit her lip. There was no right choice. At least Draco had been the first to pass on a question; she had her pride, after all. "Question."

"How _did_ you react to it?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You put on a confident face and pulled an interesting question from out of nowhere. You obviously haven't played much before, because you don't really know the rules. So now I'm curious, what were you thinking when I asked for your pants? Appalled? Aroused? Confused? Amused?"

He was asking her how she felt about his vanishing her knickers. She had been granted a reprieve from revealing anything too secret. And his asking the question meant he was curious about her. That she wasn't as easy to read as she'd feared. _Well, what do you know. I've turned the tables on Draco Malfoy._

What could it hurt to tell the truth? She threw her mind back to the particular moment.

"Initially… nervous, I suppose. Then irritated at myself for being nervous. Suspicious as to why you would even want them, but also… aroused by the same thought. A little angry when you vanished them. Currently, I'm fairly annoyed because I'll likely have to return to the party pantless."

"Unless I give them back."

"Unless you give them back." She eyed him closely. He had his mask back on again and in a weird way, Astoria felt like she'd earned a little bit of control. If he was worried about showing his emotions, it meant she was getting to him.

"Are you going to give them back?" She asked before remembering the loophole.

"I haven't decided yet," he said, his eyes dancing. "Thank you for that easy question. My turn."

"Bollocks," Astoria muttered. She wanted to slap that cocky grin off of Draco's face, but it wasn't like she didn't know the rules. It also sent a pleasant hum through her every time he smiled. Cocky or not. "Fine. Command."

Draco straightened up in his chair. "Come here," he told her and extended a hand, beckoning.

She wasn't sure she liked being beckoned, but for once, she didn't overthink it; she just rose up off the sofa and moved towards him. Once she was in arm's reach, Draco slid forward in the deep seat and pulled her towards him, palms gripping her legs just above her knees. He kept his knees pressed together, so she was forced to straddle his legs to get closer. She was feeling too close, too warm, and too exposed with no knickers.

"And tell me when you stop thinking." His right hand disappeared under her dress, running up the top of her thigh to find nothing but smooth skin at her hip and waist. Her heart stopped in her chest.

"That's… two commands," she managed. How was there not enough air in this massive room?

"'Come here and tell me when you stop thinking' is a single sentence. I would have thought a Ravenclaw such as yourself would appreciate grammatical accuracy more." His voice was measured and neutral, but there was something dangerous beneath it all.

She wanted to argue the point, to keep bantering lightly, but her mind couldn't break away from the exploring hand up her robes. It was inching closer and closer to where her thighs met until…

He slid one finger into her slowly, and she bit her lips to hold back a little moan.

"Excited, are we?" he whispered. She was embarrassingly wet. She couldn't think of a time before meeting Draco in that club when she'd been aroused simply by being in the presence of someone. But it felt so good… better than good. It felt exciting, and reckless, and it made all the thoughts in her noisy head go silent. She closed her eyes and relented.

"It's working," she breathed. "It's getting harder to think… oh!" She yelped, as he had skipped two fingers and gone straight to three. They pressed against her sensitive, throbbing walls. Godric, she felt so _full_.

"We've barely even started," he promised.

The thumb from his other hand brushed over her her most sensitive nub. She inhaled violently and practically purred on the exhale. He was barely moving it, almost more pressing than rubbing. His fingers on her, in her… it felt like he was casting a charm on her. Her head was now filled only with the sound of her hard breathing; all other thoughts had scarpered. She leaned forward grabbed on to the wings of the armchair as her knees started to shake.

"You're putting on quite a show for me, Miss Greengrass." Draco sounded amused, but there was a huskiness to his voice that made her insides tighten even further.

She opened her eyes to look at him. His grey eyes were dark again, excitingly so. They were openly raking over her chest, her neck, her waist. Emboldened by their naked need, she climbed onto the chair to be closer to him. She wanted to feel his hardness below her. He withdrew his hands and shifted deeper into the chair. His hands cupped her buttocks and yanked her closer. A panicked thought broke through the fog of her mind; she glanced towards the door.

"What happens if someone walks in?"

Draco didn't even look up at her. "No back up plans now, Astoria. If we get caught, we get caught."

Her heart skipped a beat, and a flush flooded through her. If anyone walked in, she could think of no carefully constructed cover story to explain why she was riding Draco in the library armchair with his hands up her dress.

"It's more exciting this way, isn't it?" He whispered and then nipped her collarbone with his teeth. She let out a cross between a hum and a moan.

Merlin, he was so hard beneath her. She ground against him, climbing up towards climax with the blessed friction of his expensive linen against her. The vulgarity of it all - her thrusting rhythm against him, the both of them panting, his hands gripping her backside possessively - it all seemed so wrong, so disgraceful. She'd never felt more reckless in her life. All the motions and the emotions and the careless pleasure came together in an explosion of sensation, and she came hard. Uncontrollable undulations racked her core, causing shudder after shudder of delicious electricity to flood through her. Finally, she slumped forward.

Draco held her closely, until she stirred. Things had become still and quiet again. Well, somewhat quiet. Now that her brain was alert again, she realized that the noises of the party below were audible. Very audible.

_Holy Helga Hufflepuff, what if they heard me?!_

She didn't even realize she was glancing fearfully at the windows until she felt Draco's fingers slowly pulling her chin back to face him.

"You're thinking again. Tell me what you're thinking."

She met his grey eyes and blinked. "It isn't your turn," she said automatically. As she shifted, she felt him still hard beneath her.

Draco removed his hands from under her dress and smoothed down the grey material. "It is, actually. You asked me 'What happens if someone walks in?' But I suppose that your lack of memory is proof of you following my command to the fullest." He smirked.

Oh that bloody smirk. She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. Maybe because it was combined with the truth of the statement, that she had indeed stopped thinking.

Unsettled, she climbed off him and perched on the edge of the chesterfield facing him.

"I was worrying that someone might have heard me," she confessed.

"It's very possible," he said. "You weren't quiet."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"Is that another question, Astoria?"

She shut her mouth, fuming. She was losing all of the upper hand that she thought she'd earned.

"It's probably time to rejoin them anyways," he continued. "Though I'll need another minute or so." He looked down as he readjusted his robes and suddenly swore. Astoria looked to see some faint spots on his linen where her wetness had marked him.

"Oops." She couldn't hold the giggle back. It made no sense for her to be amused at such a vulgar act… but she was inexplicably proud of herself.

"That's all you have to say, oops?" He didn't sound like he was nearly as impressed by it as Astoria, but it wasn't anything a Scourgify couldn't fix… unless...

A devilish idea sprang into her mind as he reached for his wand.

"Still that wand arm, Draco. Question or Command?" His wand stopped.

"Let me deal with this first, Astoria." He watched her suspiciously. She put her hand over his wand hand.

"My turn for Commands, Draco." Her eyes were flashing with mischief now.

"I'm very tempted to say Question right now."

Astoria ignored him. She could tell he was curious to know what she had in mind. "I command you not to Scourgify it. Return to the party like that."

Draco's eyes bugged out a bit in shock. "You're taking the piss."

"Not at all. Of course, you don't have to tell anyone what it really is. Say your ice cream dripped. Or you were clumsy with the lobster salad. But leave it marked until you get home."

Draco shook his head disbelievingly. And was that just a hint of respect she saw? "I think I have severely underestimated your level of commitment to this game."

Astoria rested her cheek on her fist. "I get underestimated a lot."

"I bet you do." Draco sighed in resignation and put his wand back down. "Alright, I'll leave it. And since I still need a minute to return to a socially-acceptable state, we'll end with your turn. Question or Command, Astoria."

She took a moment to think about it. After all, when was this going to happen again? Two impassioned trysts does not a relationship make. So she answered in the hopes of drawing him out.

"Question."

Draco smiled like he had expected the answer.

"Do you ever get out to London?"

Astoria frowned. How disappointing. "Occasionally. That's a fairly unrebellious question."

He didn't respond right away. In fact, he looked around the library distractedly before answering. "I've been living in my family's townhouse there. The Malfoys have a place in Mayfair. It's not the Manor, but it's sufficient." He sounded bored and pretentious, but he was refusing to look at her. She was starting to suspect that Draco's most arrogant idiosyncracies were all just masks for deeper emotion. Malfoy Manor had been, from what she heard, Death Eater central during Voldemort's rise to power. She couldn't even imagine what Draco had witnessed happening in his childhood home. _Sufficient indeed_ , she thought.

"Mayfair is a lovely part of the city," she said neutrally.

"It's… central. I have to spend a lot of time at St. Mungo's now." He shifted uncomfortably. Astoria had never seen him look this evasive. "Because of my Sentencing of volunteer service there."

"Of course," she replied. She'd remembered the sentencing - it had been all over the Prophet - but she hadn't really thought about how often Draco was at the hospital. It was a wonder - and a blessing - that she hadn't seen him there before.

"Come visit me there." He finally looked at her. Even though it had been phrased as a command, Astoria had heard the uncertainty in it.

"I would love to." She rose up off the sofa and extended her hand to Draco to lead him out of the library. He stretched out his own hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. Even just that small embrace of fingers felt exciting.

He smiled. "I'll send an owl."


	5. Take It Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, kind readers!  I've been doing the writer thing and pondering and supposing where/how/when I want Draco and Astoria to proceed.  I wanted to really lift up the Prophet angle, since bad press becomes a big part of Cursed Child.  No lemons in this one, alas.  Just lots of inner dialogue.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, reviews and comments and kudos are life! 

Chapter 5

The day after the party, Astoria stared into the mirror of her bedroom.

 _Is it worth it?_ She was inspecting her restored blue hair. After her conversation with Draco, she wasn't sure she liked it as much as she once did. Was he right? Was it just a weak attempt at rebellion?

_But if I go back to the mousy brown, doesn't that signal to Mother and Father that they've won? That it was always just a phase, and that they were right in waiting it out?_

She scowled reflexively at the thought. Even if it were just a phase, was she ready to end it so quickly? Wasn't this the beginning of a new chapter, where Astoria Greengrass learned to say "to hell with it" and really mean it?

The reflection looked back at her defiantly, and Astoria liked what she saw.

_Blue it is, and blue it stays._

* * *

Daphne and Astoria were sitting in the dining room eating soft boiled eggs when their mother came in with the Daily Prophet.

"You'll be pleased to hear that our hard work paid off, and the event was described as 'one of the social highlights of the season'." Her mother, for once, didn't have worry lines marking her face. Instead, she seemed confident and satisfied. "It says 'the Greengrass family has reminded the Wizarding World in the grandest of fashions that there is indeed a need for tradition and elegance in these days of rebuilding and modernity.' And Daphne dear, they're very flattering to you." She looked over with pride. "'The eldest Miss Greengrass was the shining jewel of it all, dressed in perfectly-tailored leaf green robes and a delicate gold heirloom diamond jewellery suite. Hemera Greengrass shared with us that it has been handed down through the family for generations.' Lovely. I'm glad they included that."

"Congratulations, Daphne," Astoria said to her sister with no guile or ill will. Daphne actually smiled back politely, already taking on the prim manner of 'lady of the house'. Her mother looked up in approval of her youngest daughter's manners, only to double take in seeing her blue hair.

 _She's trying so hard not to react_ , Astoria thought with glee. _After all, she_ did _give me permission to return to it. I bet she never thought I would dare._ It hit her that she wasn't usually the type to get a thrill from making others uncomfortable. And yet, here she was enjoying herself.

"What else does it say?" she asked, wanting to see how distracted her mother truly was.

"Oh, the usual gossip," she said offhand, looking back down at the Prophet. "A tedious mention about the Longbottom's appearance, and something pithy about the Malfoys as well."

Both Daphne and Astoria perked up. "May I see the paper, Mother" Daphne beat Astoria to the request. Astoria grimaced.

"Of course, dear." She handed it over. "You'll want to save that to show your children one day." She smiled dotingly at Daphne and caressed her cheek in an almost affectionate way. "You've done us proud, Daphne."

Astoria was starting to realize how much the event had obviously meant to her mother… and even to her sister. For her, it had been an excuse to see Draco again and nothing more. But there was definitely something larger going on. Was a little garden party actually a life-changing event for them? It seemed surreal and absurd.

Her mother got up to leave, saying "I'll be having luncheon with Annabelle Nott today, and your father was up early to travel to Paris to meet with associates. You've earned a day of rest after yesterday." And with a final nod of pride to Daphne, she left the room.

"Should I be reading the part about the Longbottoms, or about the Malfoys?" Daphne drawled, spreading out the paper lazily and eyeing her sister with interest. "I saw them both by your side yesterday. They looked liked they were ready to charge at each other like rutting stags."

Astoria rolled her eyes, something she'd have never done with her mother in the room. "You're as delusional as the person who wrote the article."

"It's not Rita Skeeter, if you can believe it," Daphne commented. "It's Lindy - sorry, _Melinda_ Bobbin. She was a year ahead of me in Slytherin. Her family owns those apothecaries… not a society name, that's for sure. But she was part of that heinous Slug Club. I bet that's the only reason she got this job. She writes like she's jealous of me." She tossed her hair and sniffed, and Astoria saw her mother's pride reincarnated.

"What exactly does she say about Neville and Draco?" Astoria pressed.

"Nothing of consequence, really."

Astoria scowled. "Nothing?"

"Hardly anything. Only that 'the Longbottoms' presence at the party, while unexpected, demonstrates a strong commitment to building bridges between Wizarding classes.' Ugh. So trite." Daphne made a sound of disgust and continued scanning the article silently.

"And the Malfoys?" Astoria was trying to be patient, she really was. But it was hard when she knew her sister was drawing it out on purpose.

"Oh, just that their presence WAS expected. Lindy's inferring that the Malfoys are desperately trying to get society to forget the outcomes of the trials. Of course they are. Lucius Malfoy spent, what, two months in Azkaban? Out of a two year sentence? They probably bought the prison to get him out."

The offhand comment wouldn't usually have had any effect on Astoria. However, with her more recent brushes with a Malfoy, it reminded her how deeply the whole family had been involved with the war. They had all stood trial; Narcissa had been acquitted, and Lucius had been tried for only his early involvement with Voldemort. He (or rather, his very expensive solicitor) had somehow managed to convince the Wizengamot that since his breakout from Azkaban, he had been an unwilling participant who could not be held responsible for his actions. And since he'd already served time for the Ministry incident, his solicitor had negotiated an early release after two months. The Wizarding World had seemed initially to be up in arms about the whole debacle, but it had inevitably quieted down. Astoria could only assume that significant bribes and investments had been involved. Some things had changed since the war… but galleons still spoke loudest.

And then there was Draco. He'd had a private trial, due to his underage status when he had joined the Death Eaters, but the results of his sentencing had been front page news. "The Youngest Death-Eater" they'd called him. "You-Know-Who's Pupil" another jeered.

What was she doing, getting involved with someone like him?

Astoria had had enough of breakfast. "I'm going to go for a walk," she announced and stood to leave. Daphne didn't even look up as she responded. "Of course. I'm sure that would do you good right now.". Astoria knew a taunt when she heard one and ignored it.

She ended up in the gardens. Her bedroom and the library were home to vivid flashbacks of Draco (and his hands, and his lips), which didn't help with objective thought. There were so many questions bothering her: How far was she willing to take this? What exactly should she tell her parents… if anything? Did she even like Draco as a person? What had Daphne been up to in setting this up?

The manicured hedges of boxwood gave way to Astoria's favourite part of the grounds, where wild roses cascaded messily over a red arbour. They were well past bloom, a tangle of blushing hips. Through it, the garden extended into a partially walled area with a stone bench under a towering chestnut tree, looking out on a brook.

She hadn't brought a scarf, and there was a bite in the air. Astoria pulled her woolen sweater tight around her neck and made her way to the bench.

If she did meet with him, what would it lead to? Bashing around London together? Or would they just stay in his flat and find their own entertainment? Did he have any interest in her beyond this burning attraction between them? Did SHE have any interest in him?

 _He's a privileged, egotistical boy who was stupid enough to get involved with the Death Eaters at the age of 16._ She sighed and watched the water flash silver as it rippled over stone and branch.

He had been a careless, reckless boy. But that wasn't the whole story, was it? She knew his parents, their unquenchable ambition for power and status. Her own parents were snobs, but they preferred to barricade themselves against change with their wealth, not gamble on it for more. And Draco was their only child.

_If I'd been an only child, without Daphne to steal the focus off of me, who knows how I would have turned out? Maybe I would have rebelled years ago. Or maybe I would have become something harder, more rigid. Maybe I'd have broken._

True, she'd made her own stupid decisions. She'd ruined the best friendship she ever could have hoped for. She'd lied, even when she didn't need to. And she'd hurt people, intentionally, when she shouldn't have. She could have chosen differently. Draco could have too, whatever his parents' influence had been. And even though he wasn't a boy anymore, he was still casually cruel with his words, and his gut reaction to being challenged was to strike out first, harder.

But there was also something hidden and quiet and reserved about him, something lonely that she'd seen in his eyes that night in the club. He had been present… but he had seemed leagues away. It was as though he had severed his tether with reality and had no reason or purpose for being in this world. She recognized it immediately, because she often felt the same way.

The little brook sighed and shushed as it polished rocks and ate at the banks. There was barely any wind today, and the tall grasses stood by quietly, barely trembling. In the silver and amber of the flowing water, little golden leaves swept along. There was a stillness to the early autumn day that made Astoria feel as though someone had cast Immobilus.

_And what about the curse?_

The thought had come unbidden, finally surfacing. It had taunted her since her first reckless adventure with Draco Malfoy, and she had pushed it further and further back.

 _What of it? Why does everything I do have to serve that stupid, bloody curse?_ She kicked an early conker into the brook. It always seemed to come down to the mess her great-great-aunt had got herself into. She refused to let it rule her life.

_Isn't why you got into this in the first place? To live whatever life you can? To take back any kind of control you can?_

But then she thought of Draco's taunt about her having to control everything, not being able to let go. And how giving in to him had felt euphoric.

_Maybe the lesson is not about taking back control. Maybe it's about giving it up._

She sighed, the sound of it disappearing into the brook's babble.

"I wish he'd hurry up and take it, then." She kicked at another chestnut.

* * *

" _Take it back," she crooned seductively. "Take it all back, everything they stole from us. Take back their voice." The wizard in front of him began to gulp, as though swallowing his tongue. "Take back the blood." Patches of skin rolled off the wizard in front of him like vertical blinds, and cascades of blood flooding from the gaping flesh. "Take back the power, Draco. Make him suffer for the thief he is."_

_He cleared his mind, as his aunt had taught him, and pointed his wand at the wizard._

" _Crucio," he said coldly. The wizard thrashed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. Blood spattered everywhere and Bellatrix's cackling laugh filled the room, echoing off every surface._

Draco didn't wake with a start. He'd become too used to the dreams, he supposed. The darkness of the room was tinged with the grey glow of deep night in London. Knowing he wouldn't fall asleep again right away, he got up and stalked down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen.

The flat was quiet as a grave. Draco had had a moment of reckless pride and told his parents that he didn't want a house elf while he lived there. As payment for his lack of forethought, he'd had to sort his own food out. So far, he'd managed three passable attempts at tea. _More than passable,_ he assured himself as he reached for the teapot.

As he waved his wand wordlessly to fill it, he spotted the Daily Prophet he'd left on the marble countertop. It was still open to the page on the Greengrass party, just as he'd left it. He tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on summoning the tea canister and tipping the right amount of leaves in to steep. But the chant of "take it back" burned in the back of his head. The tea leaves gave a shudder, pouring more than he meant to in.

"Fuck!" he swore. He supposed he'd just steep it for less and see how drinkable it was, but it bothered him that he couldn't do something as simple as pour tea leaves into a pot. He replaced the lid, set it to steep, then returned to the Veela call of the Prophet.

There the words sat, silently mocking him. "Also in attendance were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy accompanying their eligible son Draco. Narcissa wore a lovely couture robe of deep burgundy crepe that had all the elegant markings of famed Parisian tailor Gabriel Bisset. The Malfoys have been present at all the top social events this season, in a rather obvious attempt to take back their status as social leaders of the wizarding elite. It remains to be seen, however, if society wishes to restore their former status.

 _That mindless twit Lindy Bobbin,_ Draco fumed. She had no idea the true cost of what the Malfoys had lost. It wasn't just about social status, or respect. His mother had dipped deeply into the family's savings and influence to free his father from incarceration on that hellish island. It had worked, but the Malfoys now owed favours to more than half the wizarding elite. And what exactly had they taken back?

He poured out a cup and shot it back with an aggressive swallow. The liquid burned all the way down to the pit of his stomach. _What is the point of this stupid game? You can't ever win. And what exactly are you trying to prove, living in this empty flat on your own?_

He looked around, as if expecting to see someone else. There was, of course, no one.

Before he could think too hard about what he was doing, Draco took out his quill and a long thin curl of parchment. In his practiced, elegant hand, he wrote "7 Charles Street - Mayfair, London. Come."


	6. The Townhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are - at last, another chapter!  Not much to say about this one other than I hope you enjoy.  As always, kudos, comments, and messages are LIFE and encourage me to keep writing.

Chapter 6

 _This is a terrible idea,_ Astoria repeated to herself for the dozenth time. Her heels made echoing clicks that rang through an empty Berkeley Square. She pulled the neck of her dark wool coat tightly over her scarf and kept her eyes out for Charles Street.

Astoria had wandered through the posh Mayfair neighbourhood before during her secret city jaunts, never realizing anyone from the Wizarding world might live in the thick of it all. Especially not the Malfoys.

" _Come"_ he'd said. _He didn't mean NOW,_ she argued with herself. _How obsessed are you with him? And how do you know he'll be alone?_

She was in front of the narrow slice of carved limestone before she had logicked herself out of anything. _Besides, didn't he tell you to look before leaping once in a while?_ she argued with herself.

 _You're certifiably mad,_ she retorted. To herself. She really needed to pull it together.

She lifted her hand to the knocker, and after only a moment's hesitation, tapped it twice against the thick wood. And then waited, as her running internal monologue continued to try to talk her in and out of it.

Far sooner than she'd expected, the door opened and the cool drink of water that was Draco Malfoy stared out at her, his expression unreadable.

"Can't sleep?" she offered tentatively.

He said nothing, but stepped back and gestured that she enter. She stepped past him, and smelled him in passing - that natural perfume of warm sand, vanilla, and cedar. Amazing how a scent could plant itself in one's brain. Her gut did somersaults.

She turned around to face him as the door shut again and had just opened her mouth for what she was sure would have been another pitiful attempt at levity when he pressed her against the door with the length of his entire body and shut her up with his lips.

The voices in her head were silenced. It was just sensation again, raw sensation that overwhelmed her system and buckled her knees. She held on to him for dear life and gave as good as she got.

With a sharp inhale, he pulled his head back. Only his head; the rest of him was pressed firmly against her.

 _Now do I speak?_ _Try to break the tension with…_ no, a joke or witty comment wouldn't be enough. She'd need a Scottish claymore to cut through the thickness here. So she stared at him instead, waiting for him to explain what exactly she was doing here.

"You constantly surprise me, Astoria." The phantom of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. It was such a well-formed mouth too, Astoria thought. She hoped he'd put it on her again soon.

Her heavy breathing pushed her breasts against his chest for a few delicious seconds, and then he stepped away from her. Astoria was rather glad there was a solid wood door behind her.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked as he took her coat and hung it on a nearby coatstand. He didn't wait for a reply before he headed past the stairs to the room beyond.

"Yes, thank you." She grasped at the civility like a lifeline while she collected what remained of her thoroughly exploded sensibilities from the entryway. It was an impressive entry, now that she had a moment to look at it. They were in a dark vestibule opening onto an expansive front hall with impressively interlocked hardwood below, and a chandelier-accented vaulted ceiling above. To her left was a wide quartet of stairs leading up to stained glass pocket doors. The stairs wrapped around to the main staircase ahead of her, leading up into the upper floors. She imagined that with the pocket doors open, the whole space would open up and you'd never know you were in a narrow London rowhouse. _The Malfoys have never been subtle,_ she mused. _Particularly with first impressions._

"Are you coming?" his voice called from in front of her. She followed it into the kitchen, which hid behind the stairs. Draco was pouring a second cup of tea.

_Tea. Of course. Of course that's why I'm here. Merlin's beard._

He pushed the cup and saucer towards her, and then paused. "How do you take it?" he asked.

"Do you have lemon?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"Then this is perfect, thank you." She watched him watching her carefully over her cup as she took a sip. _Good grief, you could walk on it!_ But as expected of a well-bred Greengrass, he saw no reaction to it other than a polite smile.

They simply stood there, near the hearth, tea cups and saucers in hand. _This is ridiculous_ , she thought as she sipped. The kitchen was full with anticipation-filled silence. She knew if she opened her mouth, she'd begin babbling about why she shouldn't have come, and it was too late for that. So again she waited for him to make the first move.

"It's your turn to ask, you know." He lifted his cup and downed half the contents.

"Pardon me?"

"I commanded you to come, and here you are. As it's now my turn, I choose Command."

 _We're still playing games, are we?_ She instantly felt better, realizing that she knew how to play by these rules. "I'd be glad to give you one. But I don't suppose there's a room in this tiny little townhouse where we could sit down?"

Draco gave a full smirk this time. "I'm sure that could be arranged. Perhaps you'd follow me."

He led her through a door at the end of the kitchen that opened into an intimate little parlour. "I'm sure this will do," he stated instead of queried.

"I suppose it must," she cast back at him and sat down on a slipper chair. And just like that, she felt as at ease around him as she had anyone. _Bring on the games._ He sat down on the chair's twin beside her.

"It doesn't seem as though anyone else is home," she fished. He seemed to enjoy the game of not asking questions as much as she did, and she really was curious about his living here. She was also trying to buy time to think of a good Command.

"That's because no one is. I have the place to myself. Not even a house elf," he added with a slight bite. She wasn't sure what was behind that, but she could only imagine how constantly pampered Draco Malfoy was managing without service.

"That sounds liberating, if you ask me." She took another sip of her tea, and continued when Draco didn't respond. "To think, having a whole townhouse in London to ones' self, without ears or eyes to spy on you. Utter bliss."

"It's also freezing, dusty, and the pantry bare as a bone." Draco's tone was almost petulant, but Astoria detected something that almost sounded like resignation.

"Those are all problems that can be fixed," she said dismissively. "But I doubt that I was invited here to be your house elf." _I better not have been,_ she thought angrily.

"As if you know how to fix any of those problems," he spat, definitely riled now. "You're as coddled as I was. Fletcher, wasn't that the name of your House Elf? Daphne used to tell stories about him to Pansy."

Astoria blinked. What stories would she have told? Fletcher was old, yes, but he wasn't incompetent. And he didn't always come right when called, but she'd seen that as somewhat of a blessing and confirmation of his lack of interest in the intimate details of her life.

"Tell me why I'm here," she ordered him. "And by Circe, if I'm here to wait on you hand and foot, you've got another thing coming."

Draco shot back the remainder of his tea like a shot of firewhiskey and stared back at her sullenly. "I don't know," he finally managed.

She was not amused. She'd come all this way for this? "I'm sorry, you don't know?"

"Look, I didn't plan this. I'm not you, I don't always think things through eighteen steps in advance. I couldn't sleep, and it was too bloody quiet in here."

"So you wrote me an owl at half-past two in the morning."

"Yes. I did. And look, here you are." He gestured flippantly. "Why did you come?" he shot back.

Astoria gaped for just a moment. "I… I'm not sure." She looked up to an expression of triumph.

"I'm sorry, you're not sure," he parroted smugly.

"You know that I -am- the type to plan anything out in eighteen or whatever steps. So who the hell knows why, in the middle of the night, I let an owl into my bedroom to tell me that Draco Malfoy has invited me to his townhouse in London." She set the cup and saucer down on the side table between them. "Or why I bloody decided to come. Without knowing who was here, whether you were awake, or why you wanted me to come. So no, I'm not sure. It defies all logic."

He'd been watching her outburst with undisguised pleasure.

"And yet, here you are."

"Here we are," she amended.

They sat there, looking at each other with puzzlement and anticipation, trying to digest each others' words. When Astoria reached out for her teacup again, Draco's hand shot out and covered hers.

"I'm glad you came tonight," he spoke softly, and then added "as positively mental an idea as it was."

"Yes, well, I've been managing a lot of mental things lately. Bad influences, you know."

She smiled at him, and he returned it. "Question or Command, Draco?"

"Question, then. Let's get all those mental thoughts of yours out of your bloody head."

She made a face. "Ha ha. As if they aren't all there because of you." She lifted her thumb ever so slightly to stroke the hand that covered hers. "If I hadn't have come, what would you have done?"

Draco sat back, obviously more at ease than before. "That's easy. I'd have gone out flying."

"What, in the middle of the night? In London?"

Draco's face lit up. "Precisely. The city's the best at night. And with a well-cast Disillusionment charm, no one's going to see anything."

She was shaking her head in disapproval. "Even still…"

"Come on," he interrupted. "You can't mean to tell me that someone who obviously likes Quidditch as much as you can't appreciate a good bout of flying to clear one's head."

She shifted uncomfortably, aware of where this questioning was leading. "It just sounds dangerous. You might get caught. Anyway," she changed the subject quickly. "My turn. I choose Question." Draco had a gleam in his eyes that she did not like.

"And I sense that we're not done with the topic. Haven't you ever flown where you might be seen?"

Astoria pulled her hand out of his. "Never mind, Command."

Draco's grin split his face. "Fly around London with me. Right now. I have a spare broom somewhere."

She looked up in shock. "No." It was all she could think to say.

"Somewhere else, then. A middle-of-nowhere field in Wales, or off the coast of Cornwall."

She set her teacup and saucer down with more force than she intended. "I... can't."

He knew he'd struck gold. "Then tell me why."

"It's… I…" Draco watched her carefully, patiently. She felt as though he were peeling her away layer by layer, and she felt more naked than she'd ever been before him. She had known that this silly game would get to a point where she'd need to confess some secrets. She just didn't think it'd be so quickly.

"I've… never been on a broom before." There. She'd said it.

Draco looked at her as though she'd said she was actually a merperson. "That's preposterous."

Astoria shrugged, resentful at his discovery. "It's true."

"How can it be true? Every Hogwarts student takes Flying classes their first year."

"Well, not me. I took Healing classes with Madam Pomfrey instead."

Draco was obviously having difficulties processing what she was saying, because he kept shaking his head in denial. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't offer Healing classes."

"She does in special circumstances." _Shut up, shut up, shut up! You've already said enough._ "Question or Command?"

But Draco wasn't letting it go. "You've never been on a broom… ever?! How can you possibly understand or appreciate Quidditch fully?"

Astoria sighed hard. "Question or Command, Draco?"

"Fine, Question." _Dammit,_ she thought. She'd been hoping he'd say Command so she could force him not to talk about flying anymore. So what could she ask that would force him to change to Command?

"What's your greatest regret?"

"Not being able to Command you into a flying excursion with me." He said it with a straight face, but Astoria could tell he was as excited as a niffler with a galleon.

"You're supposed to tell me the truth. Unless you'd like to switch to Command."

"Nice try, you. You've got to know I'm smarter than that."

"Fine, then greatest regret."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I can't say I've ever ranked my regrets before. Will you settle for _one_ of my greatest regrets?"

Astoria really didn't want to give him any leeway. But if she was being asked to compromise, what could she get out of it in return?

"That's fine," she nodded. "But you also need to explain why you regret it. No listing something and then declaring it's my turn." _There,_ she thought. _Maybe explaining it will get him to drop the flying thing._

Draco actually smirked. "You're starting to sound more Slytherin every time we play this game." He rolled his shoulders as if preparing to lift something heavy. "Fine, then. _One_ of my greatest regrets, and why. I regret going all in with the Death Eaters. I should have had an exit strategy." His expression had turned to stone.

Astoria didn't know quite how to take that. "Your regret is that you didn't outwit You-Know-Who?"

Draco was watching her, obviously trying to read her reaction. "Yes," he admitted.

"You were what, sixteen at the time, and you believed you could actually get away with plotting against You-Know-Who?" She was gaping now. She had, of course, known that Draco had an ego the size of Spain, but this was beyond reason. "Have you ever heard of a thing called hubris?"

Draco's face grew flintier. "I outwitted Dumbledore." His words had an edge and a weight to them that told Astoria he was being completely serious. And yet she couldn't help the laugh of disbelief that escaped from her mouth.

"How do you figure that?" She sat up straighter in her chair and held onto his gaze, challenging him to keep talking.

"I smuggled Death Eaters into Hogwarts at the end of my last year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore even admitted to me himself that he thought it impossible."

Astoria didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell if Draco was appalled or proud of what he'd done. She could admit that Dumbledore telling anyone that they'd achieved something he believed was impossible was… a lot. _But DEATH EATERS_ , her conscience screamed.

What was she doing here, with him?

"Draco," she began, without know where she would end. "I'm… it's…"

"Just say it," he snapped. "It's what everyone else is thinking when they talk to me. I'm a terrible person who made stupid, evil choices. And I don't even regret half of them."

"You don't regret letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts?" she threw back at him with more anger than she thought she was feeling.

"Hogwarts! What's so great about it? It's just a place. And Death Eaters ended up there the next year anyway."

Thoughts of the Carrows flashed through Astoria's head, and she felt her gut clench painfully in response. She squeezed her eyes closed. "You don't know what it was like…"

"...to be surrounded by Death Eaters?" Draco interrupted. "I do, actually. So, yes, I regret getting into a situation where I had no control and no escape plan which led to my smuggling Death Eaters into school. But do I regret my being able to outwit the 'omnipotent and omniscient' Albus Dumbledore? Sorry, but I don't. Take it or leave it."

They both sat in the silence, the air charged between them. _I guess my plan worked,_ Astoria thought. They weren't talking about flying anymore. _We're not talking at all, actually. Great job, Astoria._

"Question," she said softly.

"What?" Draco seemed completely taken back by her statement.

"I choose question," she repeated.

"You want to keep going?"

He was looking at her with a curious expression, and she felt as though she were under a microscope.

"I asked because I wanted to know. And now I do." She met his eyes dead-on, and forced a half-smile. "And thank you for such an easy question. Question or Command?"

Draco looked disgusted - with her or with himself, she wasn't quite sure. But the tension in the room had lessened a bit.

"Command." _No surprise there,_ she thought.

"Show me the townhouse," she ordered. And got to her feet.

It had been the perfect Command for the moment. The game was put aside briefly as Draco walked her through each room in the house. As they saw more and more rooms, Draco became more open in describing them.

The townhouse had been acquired by the Malfoys in the early 1920s and had been designed with the sole purpose of showing off. With the ministry office so close, Abraxas Malfoy had made it into the place to be for after-office dinners and meetings with the Minister, visiting delegates, and other important witches and wizards. It was overwhelmingly luxurious, from the prolific use of gold and gilded decorations to the hand-painted wallpapers and embroidered textiles.

"When was the last time anyone lived here?" Astoria asked as Draco showed her a billiards room on the third floor.

"Grandfather died when I was seven, and I remember visiting him here only a handful of times. We've stayed here a few times to visit Diagon Alley and Borgin and Burkes, but it hasn't really been lived in since." He led her up yet another flight of stairs to a black door.

"And this is my room," he said nonchalantly. It was as if the earlier outburst hadn't happened, and he was back to being Prince Draco, only son of a legacy line. Astoria wanted to roll her eyes at his affected bored expression, if only to poke a hole in that huge head of his.

"This little space? How cramped," she quipped.

The room wasn't exactly little, though it was smaller than her room. Other than a large black four-poster bed, a chair, and a side table, it was completely empty. Nothing on the walls, nothing on the table even. Astoria wondered if Draco was a secret minimalist or pushing back against the excess of the rest of the house.

"It's sufficient," he said plainly. "I don't use the room much."

 _Ah,_ she thought, understanding now. "I have a hard time sleeping too."

"You do, do you?" He was looking at her in a way that made her cheeks warm.

"You don't have the monopoly on insomnia, Draco." She walked over to the unmade bed, straightened and tucked the sheets in perfectly with a flick of her wand, and then stretched out on it.

Draco walked slowly towards her. "I have a question." His eyes had a glint of humour in them. "Where did you learn to make a bed like that?" The mattress shifted as he sat down beside her.

"I told you - I took Healing lessons. Are we back to playing the game?" Her breathing quickened slightly as he ran a finger up her forearm.

"No." His voice was soft, but curt. "No more games tonight."

Her breath hitched. His fingers plucked the wand from her hand and put it on the table. Then his fingers were back, running up over the sleeve of her dress, up to her exposed collar bone. Following the edge of the fabric, he traced down between her breasts to her hip.

She'd thrown on the wrap dress because it was quick to put on. And take off. But he didn't seem to be in a rush to unwrap her. In fact, he pulled his hand back when it reached the tie.

"You're sure you want this?" _With me,_ she thought he meant. She did want it though. _It always comes back to this, doesn't it?_ The liquid pull of lust that she felt anytime she was around him. Maybe it was safer to leave now. Maybe it was smarter to not get involved with a hot mess like Draco Malfoy. But something about this beautiful, broken boy had gripped her. She'd never understood why all the young women in the Greek myths fell for Zeus - the egotistical, self-absorbed playboy of Olympus. It had been a point of pride to her that Asteria, her mythical namesake, had escaped the clutches of the randy King of the Pantheon. But that pride was long gone; if Zeus's lovers had felt anything like this, she could understand it all.

"Yes, I'm sure." She ran her own fingers up his outstretched arm, clasping the muscles above the elbow. They were like carved marble, resisting her light squeeze.

He pulled the tie keeping the dress front closed, and the whisper of the rubbing fabric sounded deafeningly loud in the quiet room. Almost as loud as her inhale. Her hand reached his broad shoulder and continued down his back. He pulled back the tie and laid her open.

She hadn't put anything on under the dress.

Draco's eyes were hungry. _She came here wanting this,_ he thought. _And she's still here, even after everything she heard._ He'd been hoping partly that his words would scare her off, would stop this uncontrollable train wreck before it got complicated. He'd been convinced that one dose of reality of who he was and what he'd done would be enough to dissuade her. He'd been wrong, and now she was in his bed and offering herself to him.

"Wait," she breathed. "Before this goes further…"

 _Here it comes,_ he thought.

"Prevention potion. I haven't had time to make another one."

He actually laughed. She looked slightly taken aback by his reaction. Who knew what she must be thinking about him now?

"It isn't funny."

"I have the ingredients downstairs. I'll make you one first thing tomorrow."

"You know how to make Prevention Potions?"

Draco smirked. "I'll have you know that I was one of the top students in Potions in my year. And I've made them before."

Now came Astoria's time to laugh. "But you can't manage tea?"

Question period came to an abrupt end when his lips cut her off mid-laugh. His hand formed around her exposed breast and clenched it hard; she moaned and all thoughts ran right out of her head.

The rest of the dress was off before Astoria had got halfway down Draco's shirt. Draco stood up briefly, setting aside his wand, shirt, trousers and briefs as quickly as he could, then lowered himself on top of her.

Like before, their lengths lined up perfectly. Astoria drank in the heady scent that was Draco and revelled in the feeling of his body against hers. Draco's hand flitted between them momentarily and guided himself into her.

She felt her hunger immediately sated, as if she'd been starving without him inside her. The feeling of completeness made her feel whole somehow, like mortar filling the cracks. They were kissing each other with silent questions and commands: _Take this. Do you like that? Give me more of everything. How about now?_ Draco rocked relentlessly into her, seemingly unfatigable. Every time he pressed into her, she would moan encouragingly at the exquisite pressure. _More_ , she urged him with her lips. He pulled back and straightened up, shifting the angle. His hand ran down her side, along her calf, and then, clasping at her ankle, he pulled her leg over his shoulder. He pushed deeper and split through her as if she were a ripe peach. She couldn't help crying out with the ecstasy of it all.

All she could think was 'keep doing this'. _Keep doing this until the stars fall, and the seas dry up, and I never have to think again._

He continued pounding into her, with no signs of tiring, both of them reveling in shared oblivion. His hands had captured her wrists and pressed her down, but not with malice. It actually worked her up further, feeling 'captured' by him. He growled slightly and let go of one wrist to clench her thigh tighter around him. She sensed somehow that he was nearing his end and wanted to help him on. Allowing her instincts to take over, she began to clench lightly. He caught her eyes and smirked in his wickedest way.

"Having fun?" he quipped, still thrusting. She nodded and smiled back. _I'll take that to mean he likes it._ As if reading her mind, his smirk widened and he drew even nearer to her, gripping her other leg up and wrapping it around him.

"You are incredibly sexy, do you know that?" The breath from his words warmed her curving lips. Then he thrust hard and cried out against her.

She felt him tense and twitch as his breathing tore the air by her cheek. He stayed there, suspended over her for what felt like a full minute, as their breathing slowed to a normal rhythm. And then he rolled off of her.

The room was incredibly dark and still. Sounds of London's darkest hours - sirens and revving engines - came in muted bursts through the window, reminding Astoria that she was nowhere near home.

 _Now what?_ Her logical brain had restarted, and began to whir with thought and analysis. But before it got very far, she felt Draco's hand interlace with hers. Just the touch of him silenced her mind, and she felt a strange lightness - as if she did in fact get a flying lesson after all.

"Please don't leave," she heard him murmur. She tightened her hand in his in response. With fingers intertwined, they found sleep at last.


	7. Ten-Point Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, at last! Thank you so much for being sooooo patient with me. I am very grateful for the little nudges to get this done that I've received through comments and messages. I also really love people who ask questions about the story - please ask more! It tells me what people are interested in, and whether my little clues sown in advance of the action are being noticed.
> 
> Special thanks for this Chapter goes to Damien Rice. I rely a lot on music to get me in the right place to write, and I recently discovered his "It Takes A Lot To Know A Man". Let's just say it was on repeat many a time since the last chapter.

Chapter 7

The noises of early morning London were muffled. Astoria frowned sleepily at the unfamiliar din then shot up straight when she remembered where she was.

An insistent glow came from the heavily draped window; it was well past dawn. Draco wasn't anywhere to be seen.

It felt like she'd slept for decades, but she wasn't groggy. In fact, she'd never felt more rested and energized. She pulled back the coverlet and found her discarded dress. After making herself presentable in the ensuite, she left the room in search of him. It wasn't until she reached the bottom floor that she heard activity coming from the kitchen.

Draco was stirring a potion over the hearth, the ends of his cornsilk hair curling with the heat. He didn't hear her enter, or if he did, he didn't look up.

"Working on breakfast? How thoughtful," she teased.

Still utterly focused on the cauldron, he didn't turn his head.

"Not exactly. Prevention potion, remember?"

"Oh." _Hullo reality_ , she thought.

"But I did also nip out to The Arts Club to pick up some breakfast." _The Arts Club. Of course you did._ He looked up briefly, just enough to nod at a paper bag on the counter. She went to inspect it.

"Ohhh, pain du chocolat are my favourite." She pulled out a pastry out that looked like it had been flown in from Paris. Even if she hadn't been starving, it looked so buttery and delicious that she wanted to sink her teeth into it right then. But manners or death; she placed it back in the bag and instead searched the cupboards for plates.

It felt right, somehow, or perhaps just very easy, to be in the same space with him. He measured out the last dose into its own stoppered vial as she set the small table in the adjoining room. The room was obviously not one used for company; they were underground, and there were no windows shining daylight into it. But the chairs were comfortable, and Astoria found the painted-panel walls rather charming. _I wonder if he misses the Slytherin Common Room_ , she mused.

She was fussing with the tray of pastries when Draco joined her. They both sat down at the table as if they did it every morning.

"You made coffee?" His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a small silver coffee set.

"Espresso, technically. Would you like some?" Astoria suspended the pot over one of the cups she'd found in the room's sideboard.

"Yes, actually." She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes as she poured; he looked amused again, and maybe even a little impressed.

"Do you spend much time in France?" he asked as she handed him a cup. As she poured one for herself, she shook her head.

"France? No, not at all." _Where did that come from?_ "The only time I've been to France was before I got…" She froze midpour. _Before I got sick_ was what she had almost been about to say. _Watch yourself - you are getting too comfortable here!_

"...into Hogwarts," she finished her sentence and the pouring. Draco was looking at her strangely. Her gut sank. Was she done for? "What?"

"You drink espresso, you have a favourite French pastry... you have a rather independent approach to sex. Particularly for an English society girl. You're sure you didn't secretly go to Beauxbatons?"

Astoria blushed in sheer relief. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't know I existed - even after, what, five years of school together?"

"Oh, I knew you existed." He stretched out to select a pain du chocolat. "Pansy once threatened to humiliate you in revenge for something Daphne once did. I've never seen a witch cast a jinx faster. Everyone knew not to mess with you."

 _Daphne did what?!_ "I honestly don't understand how they call each other friends," she murmured and then took a bite of her pastry.

"They both get something out of it, I'm sure. That's ultimately what matters to both of them." He took a bite too.

"Hm," she gave as a response. As they ate, Astoria wondered if Daphne's friendships had all been the same - transactional, for mutual benefit only. Was that the same for Draco? _What a lonely way to measure relationships,_ she thought.

"I started drinking coffee - cappuccinos specifically - during the Triwizard Tournament. Most of the Beauxbatons students chose to sit at the Ravenclaw table, and it became pretty popular that year. The pastries as well."

"Hm," Draco echoed her earlier non-response. "I usually only drink coffee when we're at the villa in Nice."

"Of course you do." She said, and rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Was he angry, surprised, or amused? Astoria couldn't tell, but she found that she didn't actually care. If she couldn't be herself around him, then she had best find out now.

"Did you just say 'when we're at the villa in Nice'?" she shot back. "Come on, you must realize how pompous that sounds."

"Pompous?" he finally said.

"Yes, pompous. Big-headed. Egotistic. Braggadocio." At the last one, his lips twitched but were wrenched back swiftly into a straight line.

"Did you just call me a braggadocio? Was there a thesaurus hidden in that pastry?"

His voice was light, but she was certain he was insulted. To be honest, she had been expecting a bigger outburst, like the ones he was known for in school. He must have learned to rein in his emotions since.

_Yeah, you know, during the time he was living with the Dark Lord._

Right _._

Uncomfortable with this revelation, she did the wise thing and changed the subject.

"I should take a potion." She pushed back her chair and rose.

"Fine," she heard him mutter as she left the room.

She found the vials in a tidy line like chess pieces on the marble counter. He'd made eight of them - eight! The very thought… lust punched through her gut like a sledgehammer. She popped one open and tossed it back in one swallow.

"You never told me how you became such a champion at downing liquids." Draco was watching her from the breakfast room's doorway.

"You're right, I didn't." The last thing she wanted to get into was _that_ kettle of plimpies.

He opened his mouth but then shut it, as if rethinking his words. "I don't like being teased," he said finally.

"Well that's a shame, because I don't like being serious. Or confrontational. I'd rather laugh - even if it's at myself. Especially if there's a thesaurus involved."

It was so typical of her - trying to lighten the atmosphere with wit. If Draco Malfoy was not someone who could laugh at themselves, well, what was the point?

"Are you leaving soon?"

Damn him and his cryptic, hard-to-read stone face. Did he want her to leave? Was this him trying to show her the door?

"That depends," she pursed her lips, "on how much trouble I want to get into."

He harrumphed. "You also never told me what 'trouble' looks like for Astoria Greengrass."

It was a fair question, one she herself had been pondering for the past few months.

"Knowing my parents, they'd shackle me to my nightstand if they knew I was sneaking out. Take away my telescope and my books… you know, the worst possible fate." She winced just thinking about it.

He walked over and joined her at the counter, not touching but close enough for Astoria to notice that he'd had a shower that morning. She fought the impulse to just lean over and inhale him.

"You really are terrible at rebelling. If your parents are so overprotective, why don't you just stand up to them and move out?"

 _Sweet Circe, I can't even imagine._ She wanted to. A place of her own… it sounded wonderful - in theory. But in reality, she'd never be able to manage entirely on her own. Nor would it be safe. What would happen if she passed out and didn't have anyone to revive her or take her to St. Mungo's?

So she dodged the question. Again. This was becoming a habit with him. How was it that she lost all ability to be a normal person around him? Or at least act normally? "Right, because that's working out so well for you." She glanced over at the sink, half full with pots that bore the mark of scorched food attempts.

He didn't follow her gaze, instead openly ogling her body from bare feet to tousled locks. "You'd get to call the shots. And there are definite benefits to having your own space... no one to interrupt private affairs, for one." His fingers stroked her forearm lightly like he had the night before, and she shuddered. Visibly. How was it that with a single touch he was able to set her on fire? And wasn't he annoyed with her?

"That's true," was all she could manage. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing became noisy.

"So you're staying," he breathed.

"I… can't." She exhaled hard. "I really can't. I'm a bad rebel, I know. I need to have another ten-point plan in place for… more of this." She stilled his hand by closing hers over it, but didn't let go.

"Eighteen points, at the very least."

Her held breath dissolved into a laugh. "See? Teasing is fun." She emphasised her point by lifting his captured fingers and sucking lightly on one of them.

His eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Astoria," he warned, his voice low and velvety. Just the way he looked at her - like she was dinner and dessert in one - made the blood rush through her. Enough that the corners of her vision blurred dangerously.

Panicking, she spun around so her back was against him and braced herself in his arms. _No, no, no, not now… breathe,_ she reminded herself.

Draco didn't let go; he instead took it as an invitation to continue his seduction. His lips pressed against the crook of her neck. _So soft_ , she mused. Closing her eyes and concentrating on the featherlight touch and her breathing helped. When she reopened her eyes, she was steady.

"I like rules. I like how they make sense, how they give me a sense of safety." She turned back to him. Their eyes locked as she reached up to run her fingers along his jaw.

"But being with you breaks all the rules. This attraction makes no sense, and it feels far from safe."

"Because I'm dangerous." His voice was tight again.

 _Careful here._ "Yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking I mean. I've never been so willing to abandon logic than when I'm around you.

He suddenly captured her hand and stilled it. "Because being with me is illogical."

 _He's so touchy. It's like feeding a chimaera - you have to do it carefully or it'll bite your arm off._ She stepped back, but left her hand in his. She'd run out of witty comebacks.

"I'm just saying that it's out of character for me."

Her hand dropped out of his as he pulled it away to clench the counter edge. "Right."

She was getting frustrated. "Look, Draco, I hardly know you. And you don't know me. Not really. Both of us have baggage we're still dealing with." Now was the moment she needed to be honest. "This isn't just a mindless affair, is it?" _You brought me bloody pastries_. "Sure, we could keep doing this, sending owls in the middle of the night, parting ways in the morning. But…" she clenched her eyes shut.

"I think… and I'm usually rubbish at recognizing this, but I think I want more than that. I want to spend more time with you, get to know you better." She paused briefly, hoping he might interrupt. Nothing. Peeking at him through her lashes, she continued.

"But if you want to end it here, before things get out of control and someone gets hurt, then I understand. I've had enough hurt in my life - I'm not a masochist."

Draco was staring at the hearth, his eyes unfocused in thought. "That's good to know," he said in a voice without expression.

 _Is he trying to be funny?_ He still wasn't looking at her.

 _Babble on, Astoria_. "If you don't want the same, that's fine. I'll understand. We call it quits now, no harm done."

He was still focused on the damn fire. _For Salazar's sake, what are you thinking?_ She waited patiently for some sign, any sign, of what he was thinking. But he was a closed book.

"Dammit, Draco, I really do have to go soon. At least give me some kind of answer."

He tapped his finger on the counter distractedly. Finally, _finally_ , he looked up at her.

"I'm interested."

* * *

"Astoria, are you with us?"

The conversation around the dinner table had halted; Astoria could only guess that it had ended with her not answering a question. Her mother and father looked disappointed; Daphne looked incredibly amused.

"I'm so sorry, my mind was elsewhere." She blushed. When had she checked out of the conversation? The last thing she remembered was her father talking about weather in Northern Ireland. Or had it been Cornwall? To be perfectly honest, the bloom and brightness she'd woken up with had completely worn off. She felt tired, distracted, and anxious as to whether it was just her lack of sleep or something more serious.

"My dear, you're very pale. Are you feeling all right?" Her mother's brows creased with the usual concern, but this time Astoria didn't resent it. She felt relieved that she could in fact use her illness to get out of the room.

"Actually, no. I'm not, really. May I go lie down?"

"Of course you may," her mother said without hesitation. "But perhaps we should put The Great Hunt back in your room."

This made Astoria wince. Years ago, when the Curse had first started to act impulsively, her mother had had the brilliant idea of hanging a magical painting of a foxhunt in her room. That way, if anything were to happen to her when she was alone, the hunters in the painting could visit other portraits in the house (of which there were a few) and sound the alarm with their horns. It was deemed a necessary evil at the time, but Astoria had bitterly resented the invasion of her privacy. In the dark days after Hogwarts, Astoria had fought with her parents (and won) to have the portrait moved elsewhere under the condition that she be honest about when it might be needed again.

"Please, Mother, it's just a headache. Those beagles barking will do more harm than good. I promised I would tell you if I needed it again, and I'm sure I don't."

But lying down in her bedroom, breathing slowly through the loud pounding of her pulse, she wasn't entirely sure. Since Lyra changed her potion regime, she hadn't had a spell between seasons. Not wanting to entertain the idea of another serious shift in the curse's behaviour, she distracted herself with something - anything - other than how she felt.

First, she tried music. She had an old phonograph that she used to play classical music sometimes, but after a couple of concerto movements she had to admit it wasn't working.

Next, she picked a random book off of her shelves. But the strain on her eyes was more distracting than the first installment of Fifi LaFolle's Enchanting Encounters, and she found herself reading a paragraph three times without taking a single word of it in.

She set the book down and toyed with her telescope, stroked her Egyptian silk scarf a couple times, then lay down on her bed again with her eyes closed. Without visual or audial distraction, Astoria's mind began to focus on the tactile.

The blood at her temples pounded. Her body felt heavy, or perhaps she was just weaker in resisting its pull into the mattress. She ran her hand over the coverlet's slugged silk. For some reason, it reminded her of goose pimples. She was sure she'd had them last night, when Draco began to undress her on his bed. He had slipped his hand down the front of her dress… and as she remembered, she felt her own hand echo his movements. She took her breast into her hand and clenched it, forcefully, just like he had. Faint ripples of pleasure coursed through her. She melted into them, freeing her mind of anything but her own touch and potent memories.

She drew her free hand up her skirt towards her centre in search of more mind-sizzling sensation. With the first stroke, she evoked the memory of Draco's eyes as he had fingered her that first night together. A whimper escaped her.

She bit her lip; unlike that night, her room was not spelled to be quiet. _What happens if someone walks in?_ It was the same question she'd asked when she and Draco had… distracted themselves in the library. She had ground against him, uncaring of the risk, surrendering to the moment. Her fingers slowed down, and she hovered near the edge. Touching herself always worked - it made her forget the betrayals of her body, the incessant voice in her head. But instead of fantasy, the realities of her own experience were painted behind her eyes - in full, beautiful colours. Draco's contours, the strong lines of his nose and jaw, the intensity of his gaze, they watched her and commanded her to finish what she had started.

Up she rose and down she fell, riding closer to the edge with each thought and memory. Him in this bed, him pushing her against the townhouse front door, his hand reaching up her dress, his cock running over her lips.

The button under her hovering finger pulsed hungrily, demanding more. With a final stroke, her whole body tensed and convulsed in waves and waves of a forceful, rushing climax. A moan escaped through tight lips.

In the clarity of release, unbidden, a thought stabbed through the haze. All you do is take.

It had happened before - sometimes random, seemingly unrelated thoughts, would emerge as her mind was blasted clear. This one made her uncomfortable, because it felt deeply true. She pushed it out of her mind and concentrated on riding the aftershocks of a truly great orgasm. After the final shudder, she pulled her hands from under her clothes and lay still.

 _Fine, all I do is take. All he does is take. Why is that so wrong? We're both getting what we want._ That was how Draco did relationships, wasn't it? Transactional. Finite. What more could she even give right now? _We're both too broken for more than that right now,_ she convinced herself. The starry ceiling above her twinkled, somehow judging her. She got up suddenly, frustrated with herself. Too suddenly, it seemed, as once again the room grew dark around her and she leaned hard on the bed. Slowly, perhaps more slowly than normal, her vision returned and she was able to focus again. Once she had regained her balance, she walked over to her desk.

Her favourite grey quill was sticking out of her bronze inkwell, just as she had left it last night. _Last night,_ she realized with a laugh. _It feels like ages ago._

From out of her top drawer she drew a blank piece of parchment. As she straightened it out in front of her, her mind kick back into high gear.

She had told him she wanted more. He said he was interested. But how far could this even go? He obviously wanted her, at least as much as she wanted him. Needed him. Beyond the physical attraction, and the curiosity though... she wasn't sure she had anything more to give. Before him she hadn't realized how lonely she was. He made her feel more 'herself' than she'd felt in a long while, and it terrified her to want to open up to someone again.

It felt as though she were going in circles in her head. _All thoughts and no action,_ she sighed. So she reached for the quill.

_Draco,_

_You're right, I'm not a very good rebel. I don't like leaping without looking, or having some intangible understanding without rules and guidelines. The second time we met, you told me that knowing the rules allows one to bend or dodge them._

_So, in place of rules or guidelines, here is my... plan. Proposal. Whatever you want to call it, if it even needs a name. It isn't eighteen points, you'll be happy to see. (But I will number them. Because I am a Ravenclaw and I like ordered thoughts.)_

_1\. See each other regularly. I'm not saying that we need to stick to a formal schedule, but I know that you're busy with the hospital, and I'm busy with the avoiding my parents' notice. (Yes, I still plan on keeping this from them.) Nights are best for me, preferably after midnight. I would suggest meeting in London, if that works for you. I think if I don't see you at least once a week, I will go a bit mad._

_2\. I would like to continue our Game. Having rules is better for me (see above). I'm not good at opening up or taking risks without being pushed, and Questions and Commands does that. Also, I like trying to beat you at mind games._

_3\. Speaking of mind games, the minute this plan needs to change, or come to an end, we will have the decency and the maturity to talk about it. I have no interest in playing games with your emotions, and I ask that you don't play games with mine._

She paused. It would be very easy for them to just keep sending a flurry of owls back and forth. But that would raise questions from her parents, questions she didn't yet have answers for. And she already had the solution… hidden away in her secrets box.

Carefully, Astoria set the quill aside so it wouldn't drip on the page. She retrieved her little inlaid box from the shelf and with her wand and password, it flicked open. If she began rummaging by hand, she'd pull something out that would break her heart... so she silently cast Accio and two pieces of parchment flew into her hand.

She shut the box with a snap and replaced it on the shelf. After taking the parchments over to the desk, she held her wand out again. Before she could vanish the words on them, she made the mistake of reading them. Unstoppable ragged breaths tore through her lungs. _It's over. It's done. Keeping it won't bring her back, won't make things right._

Eventually, she calmed down. With a final flick of her wand, the two parchments became blank.

Sitting back down, she folded one of them with trembling hands. After another steadying breath, she picked the quill back up and continued to write.

_4\. For the times that we can't meet in person, I am including a piece of spelled parchment. I have a similar parchment. Anything I write on it will be visible by you, and anything you write ont yours will be visible to me. That way at least we won't be sending a storm of owls back and forth._

There it is. Only four points. Nowhere near ten, really. I shall now send this off and stare at my parchment in hopes for an immediate answer.

_I already miss your lips on me._


	8. The Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING- This chapter contains themes of suicide ideation that may be upsetting to some readers.
> 
> This is a big one, folks. Biggest chapter yet. I tend to write each chapter as it comes, only occasionally writing bits for future chapters, and so as I worked my way through this one, it went places I never knew it would go. A couple things: I didn't expect Draco to open up so deeply so quickly. But it felt right. Secondly, the classical piece Astoria plays for Draco is Chopin's "L'adieu" waltz and, like Astoria, I did NOT know the story of it when I first heard it and decided to use it for this chapter. It was only after trying to find it again that I discovered its back story, making it an absolute that I would use it. I highly recommend looking it up.
> 
> Now without further ado, I hope you like it! Please please please continue leaving comments; it really does encourage me to carry on with the carrying on.

_**TRIGGER WARNING- This chapter contains themes of suicide ideation that may be upsetting to some readers.** _

_This is a big one, folks. Biggest chapter yet. I tend to write each chapter as it comes, only occasionally writing bits for future chapters, and so as I worked my way through this one, it went places I never knew it would go. A couple things: I didn't expect Draco to open up so deeply so quickly. But it felt right. Secondly, the classical piece Astoria plays for Draco is Chopin's "L'adieu" waltz_ _and, like Astoria, I did NOT know the story of it when I first heard it and decided to use it for this chapter. It was only after trying to find it again that I discovered its backstory, making it an absolute that I would use it.  I highly recommend looking it up.  
_

_Now without further ado, I hope you like it! Please please please continue leaving comments; it really does encourage me to carry on with the carrying on._

Chapter 8

Astoria stayed up until the grey light of dawn crept through her windows, but the paper stayed blank. Admitting defeat, she finally succumbed to sleep and didn't get up until called for lunch.

She was in a terrible mood when she got back to her room. Her mother hadn't just been wearing her worried face, she'd thrown question after question at her as they ate. How did she feel? Should she maybe see Lyra today? Should they reconsider moving The Hounds? Was there anything she could get her? Astoria had used up her entire store of patience by the end of it and could barely keep from slamming her bedroom door upon reentry.

Without hesitation, she stormed straight towards her copy of the parchment sitting on her writing table by the bed. To keep from losing her mind during her meal of squab pie and potted cheese, she had started to craft a multitude of messages for Draco - some pithy, some borderline desperate. But before she could grab her quill angrily, she saw the parchment was anything but blank. Her outstretched hand snatched up the paper instead.

_Astoria,_

_I'm impressed - only four points. It's important to have a baseline so we can measure progress._

_If I wasn't clear before: I want you here, in London, with me, whenever you can be here. I'm sentenced to Purgatory (read: St. Mungo's) during the day, but my nights are empty._

_You were right when you said we both have baggage. I'm used to dealing with mine on my own, so I can't promise I won't hurt you. I've hurt a lot of people and not cared about the consequences. But I think I might care if I hurt you. So no mind games. Besides Question or Command, of course. You're amusing when you think you're winning._

_Come tonight. Save room for dessert._

_\- D_

Still gripping the parchment, she sank onto the bed. He wanted her with him, and he cared if she got hurt. Her finger stroked his words mindlessly.

' _Might' care_ , she corrected herself. _Stop working yourself up about this._ She forced herself to let go of the parchment. It wasn't as though she was any more sure of what she thought of him. She still wasn't able to reconcile the former Death Eater-in-Training who had, in his own words, "hurt a lot of people and not cared about the consequences" with someone who teasingly promised dessert.

But she had to admit she felt _something_. Maybe she'd just been cooped up with a family she barely tolerated for too long; maybe boredom, isolation, and well-repressed loneliness were finally starting to break her, if a single letter from a person like Draco Malfoy was making her gut twist and clench in anticipation. She read it again as if it were as mundane as the Daily Prophet, taking each word in carefully, impassionately. _They're only words. They likely mean absolutely nothing._

She stood up and took the page over to her writing desk.

_I'll see you just after midnight._

_\- A_

There. That was all she was going to write. Tonight was the first time she had the chance to prepare properly, and she was going to take advantage of it. Draco Malfoy was not going to know what hit him.

* * *

It was a few minutes past twelve when Astoria apparated into Berkeley Square. The night breezes were chilly; autumn had come with a vengeance. She pulled up the collar of her coat to keep the wind from her ears and started to move briskly. Before she knew it, she was gripping the heavy iron door knocker of 4 Charles St. After two quick raps, the door opened on its own volition. She entered the vestibule expectantly, but there was no sign of Draco. Something told her that it was all part of a plan, that he wanted her off-balance and at a disadvantage. _Bring it on, Malfoy. I'm as ready to play as you are._

Hanging her coat up in the hall, she followed the lit corridor to the back of the townhouse. It took great concentration for her not to start fussing with the sleeves of her dark wine-coloured sweater or to bite her stained lips. She turned the corner towards the dining room, and saw that Draco had also prepared for a battle of wits.

The dining room's massive chandelier bathed the whole regal space in glimmering light and set the gilded ceiling aglow. Two places were set in front of a table laden with a massive platter of desserts: crystal bowls of creamy chocolate mousse, pastel-coloured macarons, decadent millefeuilles, a towering croquembouche in a caramel cage, a glossy-surfaced tarte Tatin, and her favourite - small porcelain cups of crème brûlée with burnt sugar tops.

She couldn't help it; she started laughing.

"That's not exactly the reaction I was expecting," a voice drawled from behind her. She turned to see Draco standing on the bottom stair of the parlour leaning on a pillar. "You are a strange girl, Astoria Greengrass." He came towards her, and she wasn't sure what appealed to her more - the table of French desserts behind her, or the boy with the white-gold hair in front of her. He was dressed all in black, and he looked bloody regal.

"Thank you. It comes naturally." She turned back around and walked towards the table. Draco helped her into a chair and then walked to the sideboard where she hadn't noticed a bottle of champagne chilling. He poured two coupe glasses full and brought them over.

"I figured that if you liked French pastries, you probably liked French desserts and champagne as well. Tell me I'm right."

"Of course you're right." She selected one of the crème brûlée cups and wasted no time cracking the top with her spoon. "I haven't met anyone worth knowing who doesn't like French desserts and champagne." She returned his piercing gaze as she rose the spoon to her lips. _This is delicious_ , she thought and moaned in pleasure. "The burnt sugar is the best part," she added, "especially if you suck on it slowly until it dissolves." She delighted to see his nostrils flare as he returned her half-smile. "Aren't you going to eat something?"

He took a sip of his champagne. "Eventually."

"Ah, I see." She savoured another spoonful. "You have to revel in your success first. Go on, then. Drink it in. Round one to Draco Malfoy."

A proper smile spread over his face, and he looked like a cat that had got the cream. Setting his glass down, he reached over for the millefeuille.

"Is that why you were laughing?" He picked up a fork and speared the edge of the pastry.

"I was laughing because we both came prepared for a battle. You might have scored first, but that doesn't mean the game is yours."

"I look forward to seeing your countermove." He looked more than just his usual smirky self, he looked… lighter. Happier. _Is that weird to think?_

"So," she started after another bite of dessert, "this ostentatious dining room. Have you ever actually eaten in here before?" She looked around at the imposing marble pillars, the gold patterned ceiling, and the tall glass doors that led to the courtyard. It looked as though it had been frozen in time three quarters of a century past. And Draco Malfoy in all black, sitting at the head of table looking as though he did it every night.

"Like I said before, this was my grandfather's place. Of course I've eaten here."

"Does living in this museum of a house fascinate you or frustrate you?"

Draco set his millefeuille down. "Are we playing, then? Because you just asked me a question, so it's your turn.

Astoria had been hoping he’d slip.  She set her own dish down and perched her chin on her hand, her elbow resting scandalously on the table. "I thought you'd never ask. Yes, we're playing, which means my turn is finished and I can ask my second question. Does living in this weird frozen-in-time Art Deco relic fascinate you or frustrate you?"

Draco was quiet for a moment; she wondered if he was annoyed that she'd outmanoeuvred him, or whether he was just thinking. She kept looking for a tell, something to betray him as he hid his emotions, but it was like reading a marble wall.

"Some of each, I think. My grandfather, Abraxas, told me that his father, Antares Malfoy, was the toast of London back in the '20s and '30s. A plethora of Ministers of Magic, international Quidditch stars, and foreign dignitaries - including royalty - have eaten in this room."

Astoria's eyes widened and she looked around the room with fresh eyes. It was easy to picture: women in slinky robes and hair in waves, men with impressive moustaches and slick suits. Maybe even a Polynesian princess or a Yoruban shaman-chief.

Draco had gone silent again. She watched him for a brief moment. "You haven't said if that's frustrating or fascinating," she pressed.

He only carved out another bite from his plate. Finally, he looked back up at her. "Being a Malfoy is a lot to live up to sometimes."

Draco didn't need to say anything else. How many times had Astoria heard her mother worry about the Greengrass legacy? Why her father had insisted she and Daphne both understand the politics of the Wizarding World, and what families were worth connecting themselves with?

"I understand.  Legacy, Dignity, and Duty, remember?"  She unconsciously pulled herself back up straight, as her mother had drilled into her.   _Old habits die hard,_ she thought.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a cruel grimace. "I don't think you've destroyed your future quite as thoroughly as I have, Astoria."

"So what, you don't get to have a future now? That's stupid logic. I think you have more in common with your great-grandfather than your grandfather."

Draco looked genuinely puzzled. "What?"

"This townhouse has been stuck in time for almost eighty years. Your grandfather told you stories of its glory days, but it looks like he never changed so much as a thread. Which of them took risks to get where they got? I've read enough about Abraxas Malfoy to know that he was as rigid and conservative as they come. And I don't think that's you."

Draco sat blinking. Astoria swallowed hard, wondering if she'd overstepped. _Is it strange that I've read up on his grandfather? He's going to think I'm some obsessed little stalker. Nice going, Astoria._

The room glinted silently for a full minute. Finally, Draco pushed back his chair and rose.

"Let's get out of here." He walked over to the sideboard, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and left the dining room. _Obviously he expects you to follow_ , she told herself. _Plenty of time to mull on his moodiness later._

She followed him up and up and up, past the level his bedroom was on, until they got to a paneled wall. Draco leaned on it and out sprung a hidden door.

And then they were on the roof, with all of London at their feet.  Astoria saw they were walking towards one of the chimneys, where a flat grey cushion lay on the ground. They sat beside one another on the cushion, their backs up against the warm brick column.

Draco took a swig of the champagne straight from the bottle and asked "Question or Command?"

Before she answered, Astoria held her hand out expectantly. Draco gave her the bottle and she took a swig. "Question. It only seems fair."

"Who was your best friend at Hogwarts?"

All of her blood vanished. "What?"

"There was a girl you used to hang out with at school. What was her name?"

She couldn't breathe. She was not ready to bring this up, to deal with this. To talk about _her_ with Draco. "No."

"What?"

"No, Draco. I can't talk about it."

He turned his head to look at her.  His eyes were piercing and unnaturally calm. "I just want to know her name."

"No. No, I can't, I'm sorry. Challenge, or Command, or whatever the other one is."  She was so flustered, she nearly dropped the champagne bottle trying to hand it back.

"You can't even say her name?"

Humiliatingly, a tear spilled out of one eye.

"No." It was as though the fresh air was collapsing her lungs. Why did it hurt to breathe?

Obviously repulsed by her uncontrollable display of emotions, he looked away again. "Command then. I think it's time for our broom ride."

"What?!"

"I'm done talking, you're done talking. It's a good thing you wore trousers and not a skirt." He looked down at her wide-leg slacks.

"Wait, Draco, we need to discuss this rationally…"

"See, that's a mistake. Neither of us are feeling rational right now, so bollocks to that. Accio broom!" He suddenly was standing with his wand out and before she could shut her gaping mouth, a Nimbus 2001 was flying into his outstretched hand. He turned and offered the other one to help her up.

"Draco, please…" she protested.

"Astoria, stop protesting. You need to focus now. The trick to flying with another person is that they can't be trying to steer in different directions. All you need to do is hold on to me and let me fly. Can you do that?"

She was on her feet and her heart was having a meltdown; it was beating through her body like it wanted to escape. Which was exactly what Astoria wished she could do. "You're mad, Draco. We can't go flying in London. Someone will see us."

His wand tapped on her head and a cool sensation trickled over her. "Disillusionment charm," he explained. "Really, Astoria, this isn't my first ride." He stepped over the hovering broom. "Now get on behind me and hold on."

 _I'm not doing this. I'm not. This is so stupid. This is petrifying. What if I fall?_ But she couldn't give him the satisfaction. She had come there that night to win, and she wasn't quite cowardly enough to admit defeat.

Her legs were shaky as she threw one over the broom. She heard herself whimper as she locked her fingers around Draco's waist. His centre started to ripple, and she realised he was laughing.

"Ready?" he asked. He cast another disillusionment charm on himself and the broom. They were now barely a shimmer in the air to anyone who might have seen them.

"Not really," she complained. "But don't let that stop you."

And then they were blasting off the ground at full speed. Astoria wanted to scream but found that her voice had apparently stayed on the roof. Her arms tightened around Draco's hard body as the wind rushed by them furiously. She kept her eyes open, worried that if she shut them she'd simply lose all consciousness and tumble into the void. Below her, the lights of London blurred together like a pointillistic masterpiece, like a glowing tapestry of gemstones.

He followed the air currents as if he were a bird, rising and falling gradually with each wave of them. It was like… well, it was like what she'd always dreamed flying was like. Like swimming, but crisper somehow. Without resistance. _Draco really is an excellent flyer_ , she thought.

They flew southwest over the city towards a big park, and Draco began weaving through the massive trees with practised grace. The city sounds had almost vanished, and the air felt fresher somehow as it rushed by her face. Large golden leaves from ashes and oaks waved at them as they passed by. She pressed her cheek against Draco's shoulder and started to relax.

Ten minutes later, they were back on the roof. She felt… exhilarated. Alive. So alive. She was rosy-cheeked and smiling like a lunatic, panting as if she'd been running.

"I get it," she said once Draco had taken the charm off of them. "I absolutely get why you love to fly. It's like sex." She laughed as she rubbed her hands together briskly. "Only colder."

He dropped the broom beside him and pulled her towards him, kissing her with a manic energy that she gave right back to him. His hands were clutching at her, grabbing and clutching her slim curves with each handful. She matched his fervour; a delicious hum was running through her.

"You make me feel so alive," she panted in his ear.

And then Draco stopped abruptly.

She knew instantly that she'd managed to say the exact wrong thing, and there was no way to take it back. She froze, as if she were prey that had been spotted by a predator. His entire being was tense, and she could practically feel him struggle to get his emotions under control.

 _This is it,_ she panicked. _I've ruined it on the first day of taking it seriously. You're a bloody prodigy, Astoria._

"Let's get you inside before you freeze to death." Draco's voice was eerily low and measured. She nodded and let him lead her off the roof silently.

She expected him to take her back down to the entry hall, hand her her coat, and wish her a good night. Instead, he led her to his dim excuse for a bedroom. They sat beside each other on the edge of the bed without a word.

What was she supposed to say? Should she apologize? Did he want to bring it up or forget it had ever happened? Should she wait for him to make the next move?

"Are you warming up?" he asked finally, still not looking at her.

"I'm getting there incrementally."

The soft hum of London at night was the only sound for what felt like decades.

She couldn't stand it any more. "Draco, I know I've said the wrong thing…"

"It isn't that," he cut her off. "You weren't… it wasn't that..."  He sighed in frustration.  "It's just that you have a talent for choosing the exact words that… that get to me." In a surprising move, Draco laid his hand over hers and interlaced their fingers. She wanted to squeeze them, but waited. She felt somehow that he didn't want any show of pity or empathy right now.

"Flying is really the only thing that makes me happy anymore. Even then, sometimes it's not enough."

Right. The only thing that made him happy, and she'd ruined it with her stupid words. 

He continued.  "Sometimes I fly up as high as I dare, and I just… hover. And then I…" He tightened his grip on Astoria's hand. "I wonder what it would be like if I fell."

 _Oh, Merlin._ She knew she'd sensed darkness in Draco - maybe that was even part of what had drawn her to him - but she hadn't fully realized just how lonely and broken he was.

"How do you find the courage not to do it?"

Draco exhaled in a humourless laugh. "Don't you mean 'why aren't you brave enough to do it'"?

She squeezed back now. "No, I don't. I think - no, I know that it takes more courage to live than to die." _Oh, what a hypocrite you are,_ she thought. _Giving advice that you can't follow yourself._ Her eyes prickled with the shame, and she blinked forcefully. _No. You will not cry_. _This is not about you._

"I just can't see a place in this world for me. You said earlier that you think I'm a risk-taker. But I'm not. I've been reckless and stupid, and I've never cared about consequences. I couldn't be bothered to look before I leapt. But now…" He inhaled noisily. "Now I can't even leap."

She glanced over at him now. His face wasn't the usual marble mask it always seemed to be. It was cracking, slowly, and the little pulls and wrinkles in it belied the deep emotion he was trying to control.

"Draco, I know a lot about being a coward, about finding it easier to want to die than to try and really live. I know..." _Because I'm in the same place_ , she couldn't say. She wanted the words to spill out, but she was so afraid that they would be the wrong ones again. But she forced herself to keep going.

"The war ended more than two years ago. If life were fairer…" Her voice rose and threatened to break. She swallowed and tried again. "If it were fairer, I should have died then. In the place of someone else. Sometimes I wish I had."

"What good would that have done?" The futility in his voice didn't seem to expect an answer.  That was good, because she didn't have one.

"What good has it done that I've lived? I'm useless, Draco. I did nothing during the War. I didn't take risks or sides. I kept as far away from everything as I could. Maybe if I'd spoken up, tried to stand for something… anything… maybe I wouldn't feel as worthless as I do now. But you…" She ran her thumb along the side of her hands, trying to somehow communicate things she couldn't find the right words for. "You took action, and risks, and you made hard decisions. Whether they were the right ones or not, at least you did something."

He pulled his hand away. "And that's better?" He looked at her, finally, his eyes blazing with hurt and rage. "Astoria, I've killed people. I've tortured people."

"So have I," she whispered.

He scoffed disbelievingly. "Sure you have."

"Didn't you hear about what was going on at Hogwarts? With the Carrows?" She was feeling very defensive now. It might not all be about her, but it wasn't all about Draco either.

"Amycus Carrow made us practice the Cruciatus Curse on rule-breakers in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or rather, the Dark Arts. If we refused, we would be punished. And I didn't refuse."

Astoria was surprised to find that she wasn't crying. Instead, she felt colder than when she'd landed on the roof. It was as if her insides were frozen. The only emotion she felt was the familiar ache of guilt.

"I can only imagine how impossible it was for you to think and act without fear of repercussions for you or your family. You-Know-Who was living in your home, wasn't he? But me... I could have objected to what I was asked to do; so many other students did, the ones who knew it was wrong. But not me. No, I told myself that going along with things was the wisest and safest way to survive. But I never fully believed it, and I definitely don't believe it now.

"As for killing people... well, I'm the reason that certain people are dead.  Maybe that's not the same as casting the Killing curse, but it still fucks you up inside."

He didn't say a word. They sat in heavy silence for an immeasurable amount of time before Astoria needed to get out. She got to her feet. Still holding on to Draco's hand, she tugged for him to stand too.

"This room is a black box of despair, and I refuse to let my plans to win tonight's duel go to waste." Her words, practically hitting the ceiling with forced levity, sounded shrill to her as they echoed in the near-empty room.

"Duel?" Before answering, she led him out of the room and down the hall. She really couldn't stand that room any longer.

"Yes, duel. That's what this is, isn't it? A duel of wits? I have to say, those desserts were a stroke of genius. Very well-played." She kept chattering, as if she were trying to chase away their confessions with bright, substance-less words. "I may not be as vindictive as my sister, but I'm sure I'm at least as creative."

The distraction seemed to work. If her family had taught her anything, it was how to successfully bury shows of emotion with meaningless small talk. They eventually arrived on the second floor at the room that Draco had introduced to her as the Parlour.

"Do you have a phonograph, or a gramophone? I vaguely recall seeing one the last time I was in this room." She walked to the centre of the room and looked around. Finally, she spotted it on a low walnut cabinet near the piano. She walked over to it, removed a ring from her pinky finger, and placed it beside the gramophone.

"Reparifarge," she commanded and pointed her wand at the ring. It stretched out into a large vinyl disk.

"This'll be interesting," she heard Draco remark from behind her.

Astoria hoped it worked. It had been a guess, albeit an informed one. With a flick of her wand, the record settled on the gramophone and crackled into life.

The delicate sounds of a piano started playing. She watched Draco carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction. She wasn't sure she'd be able to stand it if she managed to ruin the night twice in a row.

Draco didn't disappoint. First, his eyes widened. Then, was that a ghost of a smile?

"Did you know I would like this?"

Astoria let herself smile smugly. "I had a hunch. Daphne once mentioned how you'd gone mad about this concert of 'some stupid dead guy's music'. So I figured your taste in music ran classical. I looked through the record collection in our library, and, well, I liked this song the best." She walked slowly towards him. "It sounds like a good dream."

It _was_ a smile. She sheathed her wand and extended her hand expectantly. "I hear you're light on your feet."

He looked at the extended hand, and then back at her with a sceptical look. "You heard that, did you?"

"Aren't you?"

With a gentle tug, Astoria was pulled towards him. They stood poised, in their formal embrace, in the centre of the room. The music of yesteryear coming from the gramophone and the old-fashioned furnishings of the room seemed to pull them out of time. It was too fast and freely played to really waltz to, but Draco somehow simplified it to something easier, smoother. She relaxed and let him lead, just as she'd let him fly. That already felt ages ago.

"Where were you during the Yule Ball?" he murmured.

"What?" _What a random thing to say,_ she thought.

"I went with Pansy, and she can't stand to let anyone else lead. It's like wrestling an Abraxan. But you just… follow."

She wasn't sure she liked the fact that he was comparing her dancing to Pansy's, but it didn't stop her from glowing at the praise. He led her into a turn.

"I wasn't at the Yule Ball. Too young, remember?"

"Right." He pulled her a little closer. His eyes didn't seem to leave hers. "Do you know the story behind this song?"

"I'd never even heard it before I found it in the library."

"Hmm," Draco hummed.

 _Oh no. Have I mucked it up again?_ "Why? Should I know it?"

"It's very sad and romantic. Probably made up, but that probably won't stop you from being a girl about it."

She very nearly stepped on his toes on purpose, but something about his face made her pause. _He's saying it on purpose to provoke a reaction from you_ , she realized. So instead, she smiled sweetly. "Best ready your handkerchief then."

She was rewarded with a twitch of the lips. "Supposedly the composer wrote it as a gift to his fiancée… who ended up breaking the engagement because her father disapproved."

Astoria was underwhelmed. "Tale as old as time, really."

"Apparently, he had some childhood illness that never really went away. He ended up dying before he turned 40."

Astoria felt the blood drain from her. "Oh?" Her mouth was suddenly parched.  "How... sad," was all she could come up with.

"So maybe it was better that she never married him."

"Yeah," she managed weakly. "Lucky escape for her."

"I can see you're really broken up about it."  He turned her again, and dipped her just as the song ended. The gramophone started its loop of crackling silence.

Once Draco had pulled her back upright, Astoria broke away - a little too quickly - to retrieve her record. She lifted the needle and set it aside, reaching for her wand to transfigure the disk back into a ring.

"Leave it," Draco commanded from directly behind her. "I'd like to keep it for a while."

She felt instant relief. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear that song ever again. Logically, she knew that there was no way she'd have known the back story. How could she have known? But it felt like more than a coincidence for her to have chosen it out of all the other records.

Thinking fast of something, anything, to change the subject, she defaulted to her original plan. She forced a playful half-smile onto her face. "Mr. Malfoy, that sounded like a Command."

He was always ready to rise to her games, it seemed. The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly, and she knew he was amused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's my turn. Take me to one of those other opulent bedrooms with a fireplace."

"I don't remember choosing Command." He started playing with the neckline of her sweater, teasing the edge with his fingers.

"I chose for you. It's nice to have someone else lead sometimes, I'm sure you'd agree." He wasn't looking at her face; instead, he was looking at her collarbone as if it were a millefeuille. She knew what she wanted him to do with that mouth, but first things first.

"Draco.  Fireplace, please."

With one last glance at her exposed skin, Draco heaved a heavy sigh and grabbed her hand. In a quick and disorienting tug, they had apparated into one of the bedrooms that Astoria vaguely remembered from their earlier tour. The room had walls wrapped in silk wallpaper, a sea of black with intricate gold constellations dotting it. The fireplace wasn't lit, but had kindling in place in its wide black marble expanse. She walked towards it and lit the pile. It was mesmerising to watch the licks of fire devour it.  Speaking of mesmerising... Astoria turned to find Draco.  He was watching her from his perch on the bed. The bed was another oversized, gilded monstrosity, with layers of white and black linens, a black velvet throw at its foot. Was there a room in this townhouse that didn't look like it expected royalty to drop in?   _Unlikely._

"This will have to do," she said, affecting an expression of tedium. "Though I do not understand why black bedrooms are so popular."

Draco gestured his wand at a few of the gold sconces, and they began to glow with a dim light. "Your command is my… command. That makes it my turn."

 _Time to go on the offensive_ , she thought. She tried to make a face she'd never done herself, but had seen countless times on her sister. Her eyes widened innocently and she pouted ever so slightly. "Oh?" Her eyelashes batted slightly, and she began to trace along her neckline exactly where Draco had been staring.

Draco was not a fool. "Come here," he commanded, "and show me what else you have planned."

Astoria sashayed towards him. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
